"No, thanks," I said. "Signed a teetotal-pledge when I was six, and my
aunts have brought it up against me ever since. Besides I haven't a
father-in-law to take my place."
We stopped at a station.
"I'm off," said Ralston; "got to rake up more signatures."
Four men glared contemptuously at me for the rest of the journey. I
don't know whether they regarded me as a miserable Little Englander or a
wicked Big Irelander.
When we reached Ludgate Hill I saw Ralston standing triumphantly on the
platform.
"Done well to-day?" I queried.
"Oceans of signatures."
I glanced over his shoulder and saw that the printing on the outer sheet
began, "To the Manager, S. E. and L. C. D. Railway Companies."
"What's he got to do with this thing?" I demanded.
"Everything," explained Ralston amiably. "It's a petition to run the
8.42 ten minutes earlier. I can't get to the office by 9.15 as it is."
"What," I cried, "have all your miserable dupes been signing away ten
minutes of their breakfast time?"
Ralston winked at me. "I've just got to go into a carriage and say it's
non-political and they jump to sign it. Signing's a sort of habit
nowadays. Not my fault if they don't listen to explanations."
My heart thrilled as I thought of what the brave men would say who,
under the impression they were merely promising their own or their
relations' blood, had tragically shortened their breakfast hour. Talk of
revolutions! Look out for a revolution in the Tulse Hill district when
the 8.42 becomes the 8.32!
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Temperance Worker_ (_paying a surprise visit to the home
of his pet convert_). "Does Mr. McMurdoch live here?"
_Mrs. McMurdoch._ "Aye; carry him in!"]
* * * * *