der drawing attention to the fact that a by-election
is pending in the Parliamentary division of Nemesis-on-Hand."

"That, of course," said the Government Prosecutor, springing to his feet,
"is equivalent to an acquittal?"

"I hardly think so," said the Judge, coldly; "I feel obliged to sentence
the prisoner to a week's imprisonment."

"And may the Lord have mercy on the poll," a Junior Counsel exclaimed
irreverently.

It was a scandalous sentence, but then the Judge was not on the
Ministerial side in politics.

The verdict and sentence were made known to the public at twenty minutes
past five in the afternoon; at half-past five a dense crowd was massed
outside the Prime Minister's residence lustily singing, to the air of
"Trelawney":

"And should our Hero rot in gaol,
For e'en a single day,
There's Fifteen Hundred Voting Men
Will vote the other way."

"Fifteen hundred," said the Prime Minister, with a shudder; "it's too
horrible to think of. Our majority last time was only a thousand and
seven."

"The poll opens at eight to-morrow morning," said the Chief Organiser;
"we must have him out by 7 a.m."

"Seven-thirty," amended the Prime Minister; "we must avoid any appearance
of precipitancy."

"Not later than seven-thirty, then," said the Chief Organiser; "I have
promised the agent down there that he shall be able to display posters
announcing 'Platterbaff is Out,' before the poll opens. He said it was
our only chance of getting a telegram 'Radprop is In' to-night."

At half-past seven the next morning the Prime Minister and the Chief
Organiser sat at breakfast, making a perfunctory meal, and awaiting the
return of the Home Secretary, who had gone in person to superintend the
releasing of Platterbaff. Despite the earliness of the hour a small
crowd had gathered in the street outside, and the horrible menacing
Trelawney refrain of the "Fifteen Hundred Voting Men" came in a steady,
monotonous chant.

"They will cheer presently when they hear the news," said the Prime
Minister hopefully; "hark! They are booing some one now! That must be
McKenna."

The Home Secretary entered the room a moment later, disaster written on
his face.

"He won't go!" he exclaimed.

"Won't go? Won't leave gaol?"

"He won't go unless he has a brass band. He says he never has left
prison without a brass band to play him out, and he's not going to go
without one now."

"But surely that sort of thing is