"Don't apologise, Sir," interrupted Baffin. "I am delighted to see a young man like you working in such a cause. Every loyal Englishman, unless blindly ignorant or filled with Radical spite, will be delighted to sign it." Grabbing the fountain-pen he scribbled the imposing signature, "James Baffin, Hughenden, Tulse Hill." "It doesn't involve any financial responsibility?" enquired Macdougal with a touch of national caution. "Not in the least. You just sign," replied Ralston. Down went the name of Luke Macdougal. Wilcox had to have his attention drawn to the petition because he pretended to be absorbed in _The Times_--reading it with the attachment of an old subscriber, though we all knew he had only taken it for two days. "Of course," said Wilcox, "at the present moment I could not think of taking any active part in military operations myself, but I am sure my son-in-law----" "You are not supposed to do anything but sign," said Ralston. "Certainly, certainly, I'll be very pleased to sign. My son-in-law is a most determined young fellow and feels most strongly on this point." And Mr. Wilcox amiably offered up his son-in-law as a vicarious sacrifice. Dodham was a little dubious. "You see I'm not a politician," he began. "Politics have nothing to do with it," said Ralston. "No one, Sir, but an abject coward," broke in Baffin, "would shrink from saving his country at such a critical moment." "Well," said Dodham, "one can't be far wrong when non-party men like KIPLING and GEORGE ALEXANDER are signing. I think I shall be justified." The name of J. Percival Dodham was added to the list. Ralston turned to me. "You will sign, old man?" "No, thanks," I said. "Signed a teetotal-pledge when I was six, and my aunts have brought it up against me ever since. Besides I haven't a father-in-law to take my place." We stopped at a station. "I'm off," said Ralston; "got to rake up more signatures." Four men glared contemptuously at me for the rest of the journey. I don't know whether they regarded me as a miserable Little Englander or a wicked Big Irelander. When we reached Ludgate Hill I saw Ralston standing triumphantly on the platform. "Done well to-day?" I queried. "Oceans of signatures." I glanced over his shoulder and saw that the printing on the outer sheet began, "To the Manager, S. E. and L. C. D. Railway Companies." "What's he got to do with this thing?" I demanded. "Everything," explained Ralston amiably. "It's a petition to run the 8.42 ten minutes earlier. I can't get to the office by 9.15 as it is." "What," I cried, "have all your miserable dupes been signing away ten minutes of their breakfast time?" Ralston winked at me. "I've just got to go into a carriage and say it's non-political and they jump to sign it. Signing's a sort of habit nowadays. Not my fault if they don't listen to explanations."