down the street, the figure marching stiffly between them.
It had a book tucked under its arm and an order-form in its hand.
When they arrived opposite Macpherson's office, the Genius started
the phonograph working, pointed the figure straight at Macpherson's door,
and set it going. Then the two conspirators waited, like Guy Fawkes
in his cellar.

The automaton marched across the road and in at the open door,
talking to itself loudly in a hoarse, unnatural voice.

Macpherson was writing at his table, and looked up.

The figure walked bang through a small collection of flower-pots,
sent a chair flying, tramped heavily in the spittoon, and then brought up
against the table with a loud crash and stood still. It was talking
all the time.

"I have here," it said, "a most valuable work, an Atlas of Australia,
which I desire to submit to your notice. The large and increasing demand
of bush residents for time-payment works has induced the publishers
of this ----"

"My God!" said Macpherson, "it's a canvasser. Here, Tom Sayers,
Tom Sayers!" and he whistled and called for his dog. "Now," he said,
"will you go out of this office quietly, or will you be thrown out?
It's for yourself to decide, but you've only got while a duck wags his tail
to decide in. Which'll it be?"

"---- works of modern ages," said the canvasser. "Every person
subscribing to this invaluable work will receive, in addition,