of ideas, and the opening sentences of the speech were already
occurring to him.

"Let's go upstairs and see the general now," suggested Mr. Botcher,
smiling that such a happy thought should have occurred to him.

"Why, I guess we couldn't do any better," Mr. Bascom agreed.

"Well," said Mr. Crewe, "I'm willing to hear what he's got to say,
anyway."

Taking advantage of this generous concession, Mr. Botcher hastily locked
the door, and led the way up the stairway to number seventy-five. After
a knock or two here, the door opened a crack, disclosing, instead of
General Doby's cherubic countenance, a sallow face with an exceedingly
pointed nose. The owner of these features, having only Mr. Botcher in
his line of vision, made what was perhaps an unguarded remark.

"Hello, Jake, the general's in number nine--Manning sent for him about
half an hour ago."

It was Mr. Botcher himself who almost closed the door on the gentleman's
sharp nose, and took Mr. Crewe's arm confidingly.

"We'll go up to the desk and see Doby in the morning,--he's busy," said
the Honourable Jake.

"What's the matter with seeing him now?" Mr. Crewe demanded. "I know
Manning. He's the division superintendent, isn't he?"

Mr. Botcher and Mr. Bascom exchanged glances.

"Why, yes--" said Mr. Bascom, "yes, he is. He's a great friend of
General Doby's, and their wives are great friends."

"Intimate friends, sir," said the Honourable Jake

"Well," said Mr. Crewe, "we won't bother 'em but a moment."

It was he who led the way now, briskly, the Honourable Brush and the
Honourable Jake pressing closely after him. It was Mr. Crewe who,
without pausing to knock, pushed open the door of number nine, which was
not quite closed; and it was Mr. Crewe who made the important discovery
that the lugubrious division superintendent had a sense of humour. Mr.
Manning was seated at a marble-topped table writing on a salmon-coloured
card, in the act of pronouncing these words:--"For Mr. Speaker and Mrs.
Speaker and all the little Speakers, to New York and return."

Mr. Speaker Doby, standing before the marble-topped table with his hands
in his pockets, heard the noise behind him and turned, and a mournful
expression spread over his countenance.

"Don't mind me," said Mr. Crewe, waving a hand in the direction of the
salmon-coloured tickets; "I hope you have a good time, General. When do
you go?"

"Why," exclaimed the Speaker, "how are you, Mr. Crewe, how are y