e Usher, at this point opens his left eye, which takes
in at a glance the Opposition side of the House, and breaks out in this
style:

"All right, little 'un! Keep wot yer sayin' till Sunday. Yer sermon's
sending me to sleep. Forcing taxation on the winks of the 'ungry
Englishman will raise the country to revolt. Tommy rot! Here endeth the
first lesson, thank goodness!"

The soliloquising official rolls off his seat chuckling along the
Gallery. Envelopes are handed to him by the reporters. He rolls back to
the door, opens it, gives the copy to the messengers waiting for it, and
rolls back once more into his seat. In doing so he spies me.

I feel smaller.

"Here, I say, what are you?"

"_Punch._"

"Where's ticket?"

"Left at home."

"H'm! Don't forget it again."

"Certainly not."

I say nothing more, as I am too interested in his running commentary of
the proceedings. A grunt. Shake down:

"Old Waddy, is it? Another sermon. Blow black plaster. Tell that to the
juries, and use it again in chapel. Yer a good friend to us--get a count
soon. Ah, I thought so. Joey Biggar up to count and snuff."

"Have a pinch?" he said to me.

"Thanks." I sneeze.

"What are you?" asked the man of the golden badge, looking down at me. I
met his query as before.

Same demand.

Same reply.

Same promise.

The electric bells were ringing for a "count out." He opened both eyes
to watch if forty Members came in. They did; and three times forty.

"Torment 'em! Keep me here all night, I see."

Samuel Banks Waddy--Pleader, Preacher, Parliamentarian (as he is
designated in a work on M.P.'s)--continues preaching. He is followed by
the Leader of the House. My soliloquising friend continues:

"Ah, Old Morality--as Lucy calls ye--up at last. Move the closure, now
then, that's right; speak of yer dooty to the House and Country. Set the
Rads laughing, shut yer own mouth, and sit down. Oh lor! 'Ere's the
Grand Old Muddler up. We're getting 'usky, old 'un; both of us have 'ad
too much of this job. We're very much alike, Gladdy and me--both great
eaters and great sleepers."

[Illustration: "I FEEL SMALLER!"]

Mr. Gladstone was telling the House all about black plaster, and gave
three points why it should not be used in public hospitals. With the
third point he landed a blow at Home Rule, and his ingenuity in doing
so brought forth a derisive cheer from the Irish benches, which roused
my neighbour.

I looked up at him smiling,