[_Does so._]]

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE RIGHT REVEREND THE LORD BISHOP OF BIRKENHEAD.]

* * * * *

THE INDIARUBBER BLOKE.

The train ran into Victoria Station and pandemonium.

A struggling mass of people trying to get out, another mass trying to get
in; everybody pushing and muttering, grunting and groaning; and above all
the howling of the Specially Selected Band of Hustlers in their now famous
and unpopular performance:--

"'Urry up off the car, please. WAIT till they're all off. Move right down
the centre, please. Wot are you doin' there? Come orf it if you're comin'
orf. Get a move on, please. 'Urry up on board. Come on there. RIGHT
BEHIND."

A siren shrilled and we were moving again.

"Can't you set the kid down, Mother?" said a voice. "You can't carry her
like that. Be quiet, 'Enry, will you."

I managed to struggle out of my seat.

"Thank you, Sir," said the man. "Sit down, Em'ly. That's better. Now you
can 'old the kid. Shut up, 'Enry, will you?"

I looked for Henry and found him wedged in a forest of legs.

"I think he's afraid of being trodden on," I said.

We managed, with some effort, to extract the child and make him a little
more comfortable. His father turned with a sigh of relief to me.

"Awful business travellin' with kids nowadays, ain't it?" he said.

"I can quite believe it," I said.

"Bad enough anywhere," he went on, "but on this line--well--and they stick
up placards tellin' you to be patient. Patient! With a wife and two kids,
and them young jackanapes at Victoria a-howling at you all the time. If
there's one thing I 'ate it's bein' 'ustled." He laughed resentfully.
"'Come on, get a move on.' 'Jump to it!' Shoutin' and howlin' till you
don't know whether you're gettin' on or gettin' orf. Anybody'd think we was
a lot of blinkin' animals."

Something clicked inside my head (I hesitate to suggest what) and the
carriage and the swaying people went out of focus.

* * * * *

There was a little squad of soldiers piling arms.

"Stand clear," said the subaltern in charge.

"Stand at--ease. Stand easy. Carry on, Sergeant."

The P.T. Instructor came forward.

"Now, lads," he said briskly, "take off your equipment and your tunics and
puttees and roll up your sleeves. And while you're doin' it listen to your
Uncle Brown, who's goin' to give things away.

"I 'aven't took any of you