Then a loud voice silenced us all,
and Joe Pidgeon, our great logician, began to hold forth.
"Wot did old Disraely do? Why, they was all frightened of him. He was a
masterpiece, I tell you. What was that there heppigram as he
made?--'Inebriated with the hexuberance of his own verbosity.' There's
langwidge for you! And he kep' it up, too, he did. He was the brightest
diadem in England's crown, he was. But this Gladstone!--wot's he? Show
me any trade as he's benefited! Ain't he taken the British Flag to the
bloomin' pawnshop? Gord love me, he oughter be 'ung, he did! I tell you
he ought to be 'ung. If you was to say to me to-morrow 'Will you 'ang
old Gladstone?' I'd 'andle the rope. He's a blank robber and a
scoundrel, he is.
"What's this new man, Lord Churchill, goin' to do? He's a red-hot 'un.
He does slip into 'em, and no mistake. He's a coming man, I reckon. I
never see such a flow of language as that bit where he called old Gommy
a superannuated Pharisee. That was up against him, wasn't it?"
An old man spoke.
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