near the door, in the room of the
private secretary at that establishment.

A good deal of conversation, miscellaneous, special, and political,
went on between young Robarts and Buggins in the course of the day;
as was natural, seeing that they were thrown in these evil times very
much upon each other. The Lord Petty Bag of the present ministry was
not such a one as Harold Smith. He was a giant indifferent to his
private notes, and careless as to the duties even of patronage; he
rarely visited the office, and as there were no other clerks in the
establishment--owing to a root and branch reform carried out in the
short reign of Harold Smith--to whom could young Robarts talk, if not
to Buggins? "No; I suppose not," said Robarts, as he completed on his
blotting-paper an elaborate picture of a Turk seated on his divan.

"'Cause, you see, sir, we're in the Upper 'Ouse, now--as I always
thinks we hought to be. I don't think it ain't constitutional for
the Petty Bag to be in the Commons, Mr. Robarts. Hany ways, it never
usen't."

"They're changing all those sort of things nowadays, Buggins," said
Robarts, giving the final touch to the Turk's smoke.

"Well; I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Robarts: I think I'll go. I
can't stand all these changes. I'm turned of sixty now, and don't
want any 'stifflicates. I think I'll take my pension and walk. The
hoffice ain't the same place at all since it come down among the
Commons." And then Buggins retired sighing, to console himself with a
pot of porter behind a large open office ledger, set up on end on a
small table in the little lobby outside the private secretary's room.
Buggins sighed again as he saw that the date made visible in the open
book was almost as old as his own appointment; for such a book as
this lasted long in the Petty Bag Office. A peer of high degree had
been Lord Petty Bag in those days; one whom a messenger's heart could
respect with infinite veneration, as he made his unaccustomed visits
to the office with much solemnity--perhaps four times during the
session. The Lord Petty Bag then was highly regarded by his staff,
and his coming among them was talked about for some hours previously
and for some days afterwards; but Harold Smith had bustled in and out
like the managing clerk in a Manchester house. "The service is going
to the dogs," said Buggins to himself, as he put down the porter pot,
and looked up over the book at a gentleman who presented himself at
the d