“In view of the fac’,” said a South Eastern man, half rising, “that if you want a thing done well you ought to pay for it, I think we ought to ’ave a man who’ll devote his whole energies to the work. Therefore, I beg to suggest Erb Barnes as—as—” “Organisin’ secretary!” whispered a neighbour. “I second that vote—mean to say, resolution.” “Any other names?” asked the Chair. “Very good then! Now, I shall ask these two chaps to kindly retire, in other words, to leave the room, so as to leave us free to discuss—” “Point of order occurs to me,” interrupted the gloomy Great Eastern man acutely, “Can they leave the room?” The room watched Erb and Spanswick as the two made their way behind the chairs to the doorway. Erb opened the door, and motioned to Spanswick to go first, but Spanswick, not to be outdone in politeness, declined absolutely, insisting that Erb should take precedence, and when they decided to stop the display of courtesy, both blundered out at the same moment. As they closed the door behind them they heard several voices addressing the chair. “Ever gone in for scarlet runners?” asked Spanswick. “I’ve only got a little bit of a garden, but I suppose there isn’t another man in Rotherhithe that grows the scarlet runners I do; people come from far and near to see ’em. There’s a good deal of art, mind you, in the stickin’ of ’em. Sunflowers, too! I’ve had tremendous luck with my sunflowers. I believe I could grow most anything in my little back place if it wasn’t for the cats. Vurry good plan of dealin’ with cats—”