But all the recent events are like that. They are practical jokes. The
jokes do not need to be made: they only need to be pointed out. You and
I do not talk and act as the Isaacs brothers talked and acted, by their
own most favourable account of themselves; and even their account of
themselves was by no means favourable. You and I do not talk of
meeting our own born brother “at a family function” as if he were some
infinitely distant cousin whom we only met at Christmas. You and I, when
we suddenly feel inclined for a chat with the same brother about his
dinner and the Coal Strike, do not generally select either wireless
telegraphy or the Atlantic Cable as the most obvious and economical
channel for that outburst of belated chattiness. You and I do not talk,
if it is proposed to start a railway between Catsville and Dogtown, as
if the putting up of a station at Dogtown could have no kind of economic
effect on the putting up of a station at Catsville. You and I do not
think it candid to say that when we are at one end of a telephone we
have no sort of connection with the other end. These things have got
into the region of farce; and should be dealt with farcically, not even
ferociously.