Taking advantage of this generous concession, Mr. Botcher hastily locked the door, and led the way up the stairway to number seventy-five. After a knock or two here, the door opened a crack, disclosing, instead of General Doby's cherubic countenance, a sallow face with an exceedingly pointed nose. The owner of these features, having only Mr. Botcher in his line of vision, made what was perhaps an unguarded remark. “Hello, Jake, the general's in number nine--Manning sent for him about half an hour ago.” It was Mr. Botcher himself who almost closed the door on the gentleman's sharp nose, and took Mr. Crewe's arm confidingly. “We'll go up to the desk and see Doby in the morning,--he's busy,” said the Honourable Jake. “What's the matter with seeing him now?” Mr. Crewe demanded. “I know Manning. He's the division superintendent, isn't he?” Mr. Botcher and Mr. Bascom exchanged glances. “Why, yes--” said Mr. Bascom, “yes, he is. He's a great friend of General Doby's, and their wives are great friends.” “Intimate friends, sir,” said the Honourable Jake “Well,” said Mr. Crewe, “we won't bother 'em but a moment.” It was he who led the way now, briskly, the Honourable Brush and the Honourable Jake pressing closely after him. It was Mr. Crewe who, without pausing to knock, pushed open the door of number nine, which was not quite closed; and it was Mr. Crewe who made the important discovery that the lugubrious division superintendent had a sense of humour. Mr. Manning was seated at a marble-topped table writing on a salmon-coloured card, in the act of pronouncing these words:--“For Mr. Speaker and Mrs. Speaker and all the little Speakers, to New York and return.” Mr. Speaker Doby, standing before the marble-topped table with his hands in his pockets, heard the noise behind him and turned, and a mournful expression spread over his countenance. “Don't mind me,” said Mr. Crewe, waving a hand in the direction of the salmon-coloured tickets; “I hope you have a good time, General. When do you go?” “Why,” exclaimed the Speaker, “how are you, Mr. Crewe, how are you? It's only one of Manning's little jokes.” “That's all right, General,” said Mr. Crewe, “I haven't been a director in railroads for nothing. I'm not as green as he thinks. Am I, Mr. Manning?” “It never struck me that green was your colour, Mr. Crewe,” answered the division superintendent, smiling a little as he tore the tickets into bits and put them in the waste-basket. “Well,” said Mr. Crewe, “you needn't have torn 'em up on my account. I travel on the pass which the Northeastern gives me as a legislator, and I'm thinking seriously of getting Mr. Flint to send me an annual, now that I'm in politics and have to cover the State.” “We thought you were a reformer, Mr. Crewe,” the Honourable Brush Bascom remarked. “I am a practical man,” said Mr. Crewe; “a railroad man, a business mark and as such I try to see things as they are.”