(_A PURELY IMAGINARY SKETCH._)
[Illustration: "_You_ know 'ow to do it!"]
SCENE--_A Portico in Portman Square. Mr. BENJAMIN GULCHER
(an ardent Radical Artisan, canvassing the district on behalf
of a "pal" of his, who is putting up as a Labour Candidate),
discovered on the doorstep._
_Mr. Gulcher_ (_to himself--after knocking_). Some might think it was
on'y waste of time me callin' at a swell 'ouse o' this sort--but them
as lives in the 'ighest style is orfen the biggest demmycrats. Yer
_never_ know! Or p'raps this Sir NORMAN NASEBY ain't made his mind up
yet, and I can tork him over to _our_ way o' thinking. (_The doors
are suddenly flung open by two young men in a very plain and sombre
livery._) Two o' the _young_ 'uns, I s'pose. (_Aloud._) 'Ow _are_ yer?
Father in, d'yer know?
_First Footman_ (_loftily_). I don't know anything about your father,
I'm sure. Better go down the airey-steps and inquire there.
_Mr. G._ (_annoyed with himself._) It's my mistake. I didn't see yer
were on'y flunkeys at first. It's yer Guv'nor _I_ want--the ole man!
_First Footman_ (_with cold dignity_). If you are illewding to Sir
NORMAN, he is not at home.
_Mr. G._ (_indignantly_). 'Ow can yer tell me sech a falsehood, when
I can see him myself, a-dodgin' about down there in the passage!
(_Forces his way past the astonished men into the hall, and addresses
a stately Butler in plain clothes._) 'Ere, Sir NASEBY, I've come in to
'ave a little tork with you on the quiet like.
_The Butler_ (_not displeased_). I don't happen to be Sir NORMAN
himself, my good man. Sir NORMAN is out.
_Mr. G._ Out, is he? _that's_ a pity! I wanted to see him on important
business. But look 'ere--p'raps his Missus is in--_She'll_ do! (_To
himself._) I gen'ally git along with the wimmin-folk--_some_ 'ow!
_The Butler._ I can't say if her Ladyship is at home. If you like to
send up your name, I'll inquire.
_Mr. G._ You tell her Mr. BENJAMIN GULCHER is 'ere, if she'll step
down a minnit. She needn't _'urry_, yer know, if she's 'aving her
dinner or cleanin' herself. (_To himself, as the_ Butler _departs
noiselessly._) Civil-spoken party that--one o' the lodgers, seemin'ly.
Roomy sort o' crib this 'ere. Wonder what they pay a week for it!
_Butler_ (_returning_). Her Ladyship will see you, if you will step
this way.
[_Mr. G. is taken up a staircase, and ushered into
the presence of Lady NASEBY, who is seated at her
writing-table._
_Lady N._ (_still writing_). One moment, please. My husband is out
just now--but if you will kindly state the nature of your business
with him, I daresay I could--(_She looks up._) Good Heavens! What
could have possessed CLARKSON to show such a person as that in _here_!
(_To herself._)
_Mr. G._ (_in his most ingratiating manner_). Well, Mum, in the
absence of his Lordship, I am sure you'll prove a 'ighly agreerble
substitoot!
_Lady N._ (_freezingly_). May I ask you to tell me--in two words--what
it is you wish to see him about.
_Mr. G._ _Certingly_ you may, Mum! It's like this 'ere. I want your
good Gentleman to promise me his vote and influence for Mr. JOE
QUELCH, as we're runnin' for a Labour Candidate this Election.
_Lady N._ I really cannot answer for my husband's views on political
matters, Mr.--a--SQUELCHER; I make it a rule _never_ to interfere.
_Mr. G._ Jest what _my_ old woman sez. I've learnt her not to argy
with _me_ on politics. But, yer see, a deal depends on the way a
thing is _done_, and--(_insinuatingly_)--a good-lookin' woman liks
yourself--(Lady N. _gasps out a faint little "Oh!" here_)--oh, I'm
on'y tellin' yer what yer know already--'ud find it easy enough to get
her better 'alf to vote _her_ way, if she chooses. You take him some
evenin'--say a Saturday, now--when he's jest 'ad enough to feel 'appy,
and coax him into giving his vote to QUELCH. _You_ know 'ow to do it!
And he's the _right_ man, mind yer, QUELCH is--the right _man_!
_Lady N._ (_almost inaudibly_). How--how _dare_ you come into my
house, and offer me this impertinent advice! How--?
_Mr. G._ (_good-temperedly_). Easy there, Lady--no impertinence
intended, I'm sure. I shouldn't come in 'ere, intrudin' on the sacred
privacy of the British 'Ome, which I'm quite aware an Englishman's
'Ouse is his Castle--and rightly so--if I didn't feel privileged like.
I'm _canvassing_, I am!
_Lady N._ You are taking a most unpardonable liberty, and, if you have
the _slightest_ sense of decency--
_Mr. G._ (_imploringly_). Now look 'ere--don't let us 'ave a vulgar
_row_ over this! I ain't goin' to lose _my_ temper. Strike--but 'ear
me! If we don't think alike, there's no reason why you and me should
fall out. I put that to _you_. It's likely enough you don't _know_ JOE
QUELCH?
_Lady N._ (_with temper_). I never heard of the man in my life!
_Mr. G._ (_triumphantly_). See there, now. That's where canvassing
comes in, d'yer see? It's our honly way of combating the hignirance
and hapathy of the Upper Classes. Well, I'll tell yer somethink
_about_ 'im. QUELCH worked as a lighterman on a barge fourteen years
for eighteen bob a-week. Ain't _that_ a Man of the People for yer? And
if he gits into Parliment, he'll insist on Labour bein' served fust;
he's in favour of Shortened Hours of Labour, Taxation o' Ground
Rents, One Man one Vote, Triannual Parliments and Payment o' Members,
Compulsory Allotments, Providin' Work by Gov'ment for the Unemployed,
Abolition o' the 'Ouse o' Lords, and a Free Breakfast Table. Ah, and
he means _'aving_ it too. That's what JOE is. But look 'ere, why
not come and 'ear what he's got to say for yerself? He's 'oldin' a
small open-air meetin' in Kipper's Court this evenin', ar-past eight
percisely. You come and bring yer 'usban', and I'll guarantee you
git a good place close to the cheer. I'll interdooce yer to him
arterwards, and he'll answer any questions yer like to arsk him--fair
_and_ straight!
_Lady N._ (_feebly_). Thank you very much; but--but we are
unfortunately dining out this evening, so I'm _afraid_--
_Mr. G._ (_more in sorrow than in anger_). There it _is_, yer see. Yer
afraid. Afraid o' 'earing the truth. Carn't trust yerself to listen to
both sides. But I don't despair of yer yet. See 'ere; is it 'Ome Rule
that separates us? 'Cos, if so, it needn't. QUELCH don't care no more
for 'Ome Rule than that 'ere penwiper do, between you and me! On'y,
yer see, he carn't _say_ so at present, d'yer ketch my meanin'? (Lady
N. _rings the bell in despair_.) Oh, thankee, Mum, if you _are_
so kind, I'll take whatever yer goin' to 'ave yerself, _I_ ain't
partickler.
[Illustration: NEW FACES IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
(_According to the Portraits that have appeared in the Illustrated
Papers._)]
_Lady N._ (_as the Butler appears_). CLARKSON, show this--this
gentleman the way out.
_Mr. G._ Don't you trouble, old pal, I can find it for myself. (_To_
Lady N.) I b'lieve, if the truth was known, you're comin' round
already, Mum. I'll tell yer what I'll do. I'll leave some o' these
'ere little pamphlicks, as you might git your good man to run his eye
over. "_Why_ I am a Radikil," "The Infamy of Tory Gov'ment," "'Ow we
are Robbed!" &c. And 'ere's a picter-poster--"The 'Orrers of Coercion
under the Brutal BALFOUR!" Yer might put it up in yer front winder--it
don't _commit_ yer to nothing, yer know!--it'll amuse the kids, if
you've any family.
_Clarkson_ (_in his ear_). Will you walk downstairs quietly, or shall
I have to pitch you?
_Mr. G._ (_roused at last_). What, I'm to cop the push, am I? An'
what _for_, eh? What 'ave I done more than you swells ha' bin doin'
ever since the Elections started? (_To_ Lady N.) You come pokin' into
_our_ 'ouses, without waitin' to be invited, arskin' questions and
soft-sawderin', and leavin' tracks and coloured picters--and we put
up with it all. But as soon as one of _us_ tries it on, what do yer
do?--ring for the Chucker-out! Ah, and reason enough, too--yer know
yer'll get beaten on the argyments! (_Here he is gently but firmly
led out by_ CLARKSON, _and concludes his observations on the' stairs
outside._) Stuck-up, pudden'-'eaded fossils!... battenin' on the
People's brains!... your time'll come some day!... Wait till QUELCH
'ears o' this! &c., &c.
_Lady N._ (_alone_). Thank goodness he's gone!--but _what_ an ordeal!
I really _must_ part with CLARKSON. And--whatever the Primrose
League Council may say--I shall have to tell them I _must_ give up
canvassing. I don't think I _can_ do it any more--after this!
* * * * *