"Humph!" said the police-dog. "Exactly," I responded, and he let us
pass on, though evidently with lingering apprehension that he was
allowing a valuable clue to slip out of his hands, as it were.
"Wait here a moment," I said, "till I get an order for your
admission."
[Illustration]
Absent only a few minutes; when I got back terrible commotion; _Mr.
P.'s_ friend was in the hands of the Police; they had attempted to
take his scythe from him, and he had smartly rapped one on the head
with his hour-glass.
"I've carried it a million years," he said, swinging the scythe with
practised hand, till he made a clean sweep of the police-dogs.
"Make it a couple of millions, whilst you are at it, young man," said
a sarcastic police-dog.
With some difficulty calmed him; explained that no one, not even a
Member, was permitted to enter House with a scythe, or other lethal
weapon. Only exception made once a year, when Hon. Members, moving
and seconding Address, are allowed to carry property-swords, which
generally get between their legs. TIME partially mollified at last,
consented to leave scythe behind chair of door-keeper, where the late
TOM COLLINS used to secrete his gingham-umbrella.
"It seems to me," he said, "that the public are treated in this place
worse than jackals. Hustled from pillar to post, suspected of
unnamed crimes, grudged every convenience, and generally regarded as
intolerable intruders.
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