eth. He showed how his people had
fought under Alexander the Great and Timour, and had come over to
Scotland some centuries before William the Conqueror landed in England.
He proved that he was related in a general way to one emperor, fifteen
kings, twenty-five dukes, and earls and lords and viscounts innumerable.
And then, after all, the editor of "Remarkable Colonials" managed to mix
him up with some other fellow, some low-bred Irish McPherson, born in
Dublin of poor but honest parents.

It was a terrible outrage. Macpherson became president of the Western
District Branch of the "Remarkable Colonials" Defence League, a fierce
and homicidal association got up to resist, legally and otherwise,
paying for the book. He had further sworn by all he held sacred that
every canvasser who came to harry him in future should die, and had put
up a notice on his office-door, "Canvassers come in at their own risk."

He had a dog of what he called the Hold'em breed, who could tell a
canvasser by his walk, and would go for him on sight. The reader will
understand, therefore, that, when the Genius and his mate proposed to
start on Macpherson, they were laying out a capacious contract for
the Cast-iron Canvasser, and could only have been inspired by a morbid
craving for excitement, aided by the influence of backblock whisky.

The Inventor wound the figure up in the back parlour of the pub. There
were a frightful lot of screws to tighten before the thing would work,
but at last he said it was ready, and they shambled off down the street,
the figure marching stiffly between them. It had a book tucked under
its arm and an order-form in its hand. When they arrived opposite
Macpherson's office, the Genius started the phonograph working, pointed
the figure straight at Macpherson's door, and set it going. Then the two
conspirators waited, like Guy Fawkes in his cellar.

The automaton marched across the road and in at the open door, talking
to itself loudly in a hoarse, unnatural voice.

Macpherson was writing at his table, and looked up.

The figure walked bang through a small collection of flower-pots, sent
a chair flying, tramped heavily in the spittoon, and then brought up
against the table with a loud crash and stood still. It was talking all
the time.

"I have here," it said, "a most valuable work, an Atlas of Australia,
which I desire to submit to your notice. The large and increasing demand
of bush residents for time-payment work