n
Railroads, who has stepped in from Number Seven to give a little private
tug of a persuasive nature to the Honourable Adam's coat-tails. A red
Leviathan comes screaming down Main Street with a white trail of dust
behind it, smothering the occupants of vehicles which have barely
succeeded in getting out of the way, and makes a spectacular finish
before the Pelican by sliding the last fifty feet on locked rear wheels.

A group in the street raises a cheer. It is the People's Champion! Dust
coat, gauntlets, goggles, cannot hide him; and if they did, some one
would recognize that voice, familiar now and endeared to many, and so
suited to command:--"Get that baggage off, and don't waste any time!
Jump out, Watling--that handle turns the other way. Well, Tooting, are
the headquarters ready? What was the matter that I couldn't get you on
the telephone?" (To the crowd.) "Don't push in and scratch the paint.
He's going to back out in a minute, and somebody'll get hurt."

Mr. Hamilton Tooting (Colonel Hamilton Tooting that is to be--it being an
open secret that he is destined for the staff) is standing hatless on the
sidewalk ready to receive the great man. The crowd in the rotunda makes a
lane, and Mr. Crewe, glancing neither to the right nor left, walks
upstairs; and scarce is he installed in the bridal suite, surrounded by
his faithful workers for reform, than that amazing reception begins. Mr.
Hamilton Tooting, looking the very soul of hospitality, stands by the
doorway with an open box of cigars in his left hand, pressing them upon
the visitors with his right. Reform, contrary to the preconceived opinion
of many, is not made of icicles, nor answers with a stone a request for
bread. As the hours run on, the visitors grow more and more numerous, and
after supper the room is packed to suffocation, and a long line is
waiting in the corridor, marshalled and kept in good humour by able
lieutenants; while Mr. Crewe is dimly to be perceived through clouds of
incense burning in his honour--and incidentally at his expense--with a
welcoming smile and an appropriate word for each caller, whose waistcoat
pockets, when they emerge, resemble cartridge-belts of cigars.

More cigars were hastily sent for, and more. There are to be but a
thousand delegates to the convention, and at least two thousand men have
already passed through the room--and those who don't smoke have friends.
It is well that Mr. Crewe has stuck to his conservative hab