(_A POSSIBLE DIALOGUE AFTER A RECENT DECISION AT MARYLEBONE._)
_Father_. And now, my dear Son, I must ask you for your rent.
_Son_. But surely, Father, I am entitled to a room in your house?
_Father_. Out of my love and affection; but this is a matter of
business; and, if you desire to be a Voter, you must behave as such.
[Illustration]
_Son_. But I have had some difficulty in scraping up enough to pay
you.
_Father_. Surely, eighteen shillings a-week is a reasonable sum for an
apartment, however small, in Mayfair?
_Son_. I do not deny it; still it seems hard that I should be mulcted
to that extent some fifty times a-year.
_Father_. I cannot see the hardship, _nor_ the money!
_Son_. If you really want it, it is here.
[_Produces a pocket-book, from which he takes sufficient
change to satisfy the claim._
_Father_ (_pocketing coin_). Thank you; and now we may say, adieu!
_Son_. But how about dinner--am I not to dine with you?
_Father_. Dine with me! What an idea! Why should you?
_Son_. Because I am your Son.
_Father_. You mean someone infinitely more important--my Lodger.
_Son_. And you absolutely refuse me food?
_Father_. Not I, my boy; not I! It is the law! If I was to give you
what you ask, you and I would be had up for bribery.
_Son_. Then you prefer patriotism to paternal affection?
_Father_. Well, to be candid with you, I do! It is distinctly cheaper!
* * * * *