_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?