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was going to take it back again: but he thought better of it.
    I was waiting, I will not say itching, for him to take his leave, when a god or demon, that same perhaps which had treated the poor fellow as a jest for a whole lifetime, inspired him to take a very false step indeed. He had already taken up his hat and was turning as though to go to the door, when the unfortunate thought struck him.
    "What would you do?" he said.
    "How do you mean?" I answered.
    "Why, what would you do to try and get it taken up and talked about?"
    Then it was my turn, and I let him have it.
    "You must get the Press and the Government to work together," I said rapidly, "and particularly in connection with the new Government Service of Camion's Fettle-Trains and Cursory Circuits."
    He nodded like one who thoroughly understands and desires to hear more.
    "Speed," I added nonchalantly, "and the measure of it are of course essentials in their case."
    He nodded again.
    "And they have never really settled the problem ... especially about Fettle-Trains."
    "No," said he ponderously, "so I understand."
    "Well now," I went on, full of the chase, "you will naturally ask me who are you to go to?" I scratched my nose. "You know the Fusionary Office, as we call it? It is really, of course, a part of the Stannaries. But the Chief Permanent Secretary likes to have it called the Fusionary Office; it's his vanity."
    "Yes," said he eagerly, "yes, go on!"
    "They always have the same hours," I said, "four to eleven."
    "Four to what ?" he asked, looking up.
    "To eleven," I repeated sharply; "but you'd much better call round about three."
    He looked bewildered.
    "Don't interrupt," I said, seeing him open his lips, "or I shall lose the thread. It's rather complicated. You call at three by the little door in Whitehall on the Embankment side towards the Horse Guards looking south, and don't ring the bell."
    "Why not?" he asked. I thought for the moment he might begin to cry.
    "Oh, well," I said testily, "you mustn't ask those questions. All these institutions are very old institutions with habits and prejudices of their own. You mustn't ring the bell, that's all; they don't like it; you must just wait until they open; and then, if you take my advice, don't write a note or ask to interview the First Analyist. Don't do any of the usual things, but just fill up one of the regular Treasury forms and state that you have come with regard to the Perception and Mensuration advertisements."
    His face was pained and wrinkled as he heard me, but he said, "I beg your pardon ... but shall I have it all explained to me at the office?"
    "Certainly not!" I said, aghast; "it's just because you might have so much difficulty there that I'm explaining everything to you."
    "Yes, I know," he said doubtfully; "thank you."
    "I hope you'll try and follow what I say," I continued a little wearily; "I have special opportunities for knowing.... Political, you know."
    "Certainly," he said, "certainly; but about those forms?"
    "Well," I said, "you didn't suppose they supplied them, did you?"
    "I almost did," he ventured.
    "Oh, you did," said I, with a loud laugh, "well, you're wrong there. However, I dare say I've got one on me." He looked up eagerly as I felt in my pockets. I brought out a telegraph blank, two letters, and a tobacco pouch. I looked at them for a moment. "No," said I, "I haven't got one; it's a pity, but I'll tell you who will give you one; you know the place opposite, where the bills are drafted?"
    "I'm afraid I don't," he said, admitting ignorance for the first time in this conversation and perhaps in his life.
    "Well," said I impatiently, "never mind, anyone will show you. Go there, and if they don't give you a form they'll show you a copy of Paper B, which is much the same thing."
    "Thank you," said he humbly, and he got up to move out. He was going a little groggily, his eyes were dull and sodden. He presented all the aspect of a man under a heavy strain.
    "You've got it all