“Look ’ere,” said the van foreman seriously, “I’m not going to bemean meself by talking to you. I’ve spoken to some of the others, and I’ve told them there’s the sack for every man jack of ’em that signs it. I give no such warning to you, mind: I simply turn me back on you, like this.” “Your back view’s bad enough,” called Erb as the other went off; “but your front view’s something awful.” “I was a better lookin’ chap than you,” called the van foreman hotly, “once.” “Once ain’t often,” said Erb. He backed his van into position, and was about to cry, “Chain on!” but William Henry had anticipated the order, and had, moreover, fetched from the booking-up desk the long white delivery sheet, with its entries of names and addresses. William Henry also assisted in loading up the parcels with more than usual alacrity, that he might have a few minutes in which to saunter about with an air of unconcern and pick up news concerning possible vacancies. The carmen who had finished their work of loading, went up to the further end of the arch, waiting for the hour of twenty to nine, and snatching the opportunity for discussing a matter of public interest. Erb followed, watched keenly by the van foreman. “Got the document, Erb?” “’Ere it is,” said Erb importantly, drawing a long envelope from the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. “All drawn up in due order, I think.” “What we’ve got to be careful about,” said a cautious, elderly carman preparing to listen, “is not to pitch it too strong, and not to pitch it too weak.” “The same first-class idea occurred to me,” remarked Erb. “Read it out to ’em, Erb,” suggested Payne. Pride and a suggestion of Southwark Park was in the young man’s tones, as, unfolding the sheet of foolscap paper, he proceeded to recite the terms of the memorial. The style was, perhaps, slightly too elaborate for the occasion, but this appeared to be no defect in the eyes and ears of the listening men. “‘And your petitioners respectfully submit, therefore, these facts to your notice, viz.,’—” “What does ‘viz.’ mean?” asked the cautious, elderly carman. “‘Viz,’” explained Erb, “is quite a well-known phrase, always used in official communications. ‘To your notice, viz., the long hours which we work, the paucity of pay, and the mediocre prospects of advancement. Whilst your petitioners are unwilling to resort to extreme measures, they trust it will be understood that there exists a general and a unanimous determination to improve or ameliorate’—” “He’ll never understand words like that,” said the elderly carman despairingly. “Why, I can only guess at their meaning.” “‘Or ameliorate the present environments under which they are forced to carry on their duties. Asking the favour of an early answer, We are, sir, your obedient servants—’” “That,” concluded Erb, “that is where we all sign.” “Your respectful and obedient servants, _I_ should say,” suggested the elderly carman.