"Ha, just so. Now are you quite sure that what you asked for is what you want? You said '_the_ time' not 'time.' For you must know, my dears, that there's a great difference between 'time' and '_the_ time.'" Billy and I looked at each other, perplexed and disgusted--perplexed by the subtle distinction just drawn by the old gentleman; disgusted at being addressed as "my dears." ("He might as well have given us a kiss while he was about it," we thought.) "We want _the_ time, if you please," we said at length. "What, _the whole of it_?" said the old gentleman. "No," answered Billy, "we only want the bit of it that's going on now." "Which bit is that?" said our venerable friend. "That's just what we want to know," answered Billy. This fairly floored the old gentleman. "You'll be a great Parliamentary debater one day, my boy," he said, "but the bit of time that's going on now is not an easy thing to catch. My watch can't catch it." "Give us the best your watch can do," answered Billy. This made the old fellow laugh again. "Better and better," said he. "Well, the best my watch can do is a quarter past twelve. And that reminds me that you two young scamps have made me late for an appointment. Now be good boys, both of you; and don't forget to write every week to your moth--to your friends. And put that in your pockets." Whereupon he gave each of us half-a-sovereign. We walked on in silence, not pondering what had happened, for we pondered nothing in those days, but serenely conscious of triumph. A potent secret was in our hands and the world was at our feet. "It worked," said Billy at length. "Rather!" I answered. "It did him good." "Rather!" "We beat him." "Rather!" Presently we were greeted by the Park-keeper, who was a friend of ours. "Well, young hopefuls," he said, "and who have you been asking the time of to-day?" We pointed to the old gentleman whose figure was still visible in the distance. "Him!" cried the Park-keeper. "Well, bless your rascal impudence! Do you know who _he_ is?" "No." "Why, he's Lord----." The name mentioned was that of a distinguished member of the Cabinet which had recently gone out of office. Did we quail and cower at the mention of that mighty name? Did we cover ourselves with confusion? Not we. "I'm awfully glad we asked him," said Billy as we walked away. "So am I--I say, Billy, I wish we could meet the Pope. He's jolly old, and I'll bet he's jolly miserable, too." "You shut up about his being miserable," answered Billy, who, as we know, was a Roman Catholic. "He ain't half as miserable as the Archbishop of Canterbury. I wish we could meet _him_!" "Or the Emperor of Germany," I suggested.