“Yes; I saw them at work once at Axim, on a tramp steamer you sent down there. They were taking Krooboys on board. The skipper received them on one of the bridge-deck ladders with a knuckleduster, and kicked ’em along. The chief stood by with a monkey-wrench and tickled them with that as they passed down to the lower deck aft. They mentioned at the time that this process had a fine Christianizing influence; prevented the boys from being uppish; showed ’em what the white man could do when he liked; taught ’em humility, in fact. I say, there’s a pull towards this bottom pocket. People have been sitting on the table.” “Mr. Onslow—Mr. Onslow, you are making a very serious accusation against one of my ship’s companies.” “Accusations? I? Never a bit of it. The fellows only acted according to their lights. That’s the only way sailormen know of getting Krooboys to work; and it was a case of squeezing the work out of them or having the natural sack from you. And so, as they didn’t know another method, they fell back on knuckleduster and monkey-wrench. I’ll play you fifty up.” Mr. Shelf put up a large white hand. “No; I don’t play billiards myself. So many young men have been ruined by the pursuit, that I refrain from it by way of setting an example. But my friends who visit here are not so scrupulous, and I have the table for them.” “Beautiful!” said Onslow. He might have been referring to his own play, or to Mr. Shelf’s improving sentiment. “You see, Mr. Onslow, from my position, so many people look up to me that it is nothing short of my bounden duty to deprive myself of certain things, and be, so far as possible, a humble model for them to form themselves by. Long before a constituency sent me to Parliament, I devoted my best energies to Christianizing the lower classes, and I hope not without success. If appreciation is any criterion, I may say that I was elected president of no less than twelve improvement societies. It took me much time and thought to attend to them. Yet I wish I could have given more.” “Yes—that pocket does pull; there’s a regular tram-line towards it. H’m, mighty good work of yours. But doesn’t it sour on you sometimes? Don’t you want a day off occasionally? A run down to Monte Carlo, for instance?” “Monte Carlo! You horrify me, Mr. Onslow. You are my guest, and I cannot speak strongly; but this is a very poor jest of yours.”