Bill; Prince ARTHUR sprawled on Treasury Bench; LABBY was denouncing
the Bill as pernicious; and SEXTON, having just sat down and just
going to follow, looked on with sort of pitying toleration of other
people who assumed to know anything of the Bill. Do I dream, or are
there visions about? Think I'll go and pinch JESSE COLLINGS, and see
if I'm awake."

Yes; wide awake; no mistake about the situation; still harping on the
Irish Land Bill; but, thank a merciful Providence, this is the last
night. JOHN MORLEY, who never shrinks from call of duty, rises, and
makes one of those formal, official, somewhat tiresome protests,
recapitulating objections which everyone only too familiar with
through this gruesome spring and saddened summer. Then SAGE OF QUEEN
ANNE'S GATE cracks a few jokes; MORTON appears on scene; attempt made
to Count Out; talk kept going through dinner hour. At eleven o'clock
Prince ARTHUR rises; benches fill up; then, when everyone ready for
Division, strangers in Gallery startled by mighty roar of execration;
looking round with startled gaze in search of explanation, discover at
corner-seat below Gangway a dapper figure uplifted on supernaturally
high-heeled boots, with trousers tightly drawn to display proportions
of limbs that would have made _Sim Tappertit_ green with envy; a black
frock coat, buff waistcoat, coloured tie, a high collar, a wizened
countenance, just now wrinkled with spasmodic contortion, kindly meant
for an ingratiating smile.

This is SEYMOUR KEAY. House may roar at him as the dog that crosses
the Epsom Course when the bell rings for the Derby is howled at. He
has, in return for the contumely, only a smile, a deprecatory wave of
the hand and a speech. House keeps up the roar; KEAY waves his ringed
hand, nods pleasantly at the SPEAKER, and at anything approaching