"Well, peace again being preserved, we drew up to have a feast of the hot dough-nuts, when a terrible thundering came at the great door. Then the figure standing guard, who resembled a flour-barrel in frills, announced the reporter of the _Times_; who said he must come in, for his folks, too, held a large stake in the game. And the individual did come in; and a right jolly-looking fellow he was, too; and in contrast with the fudgy old conclave, seemed bright, fresh, and ready to go ahead; and then he said the _Times_ and the country were two great institutions. 'You!' he spoke, advancing independently to the table, and grinning the old fogies almost out of countenance, 'have got to render an account of this game to the country! your just unequiliberizing everything; and my humble opinion is that you have got the fear fever in your heads.' The old gentleman took it all in good part; in fact (the truth must be told at times) they seemed rather to fear and like the man of the _Times_, who seldom failed in getting by some mysterious process the secrets of Downing street. However, as disturbances seldom come separate, no sooner had the man of the _Times_ been smoothed nicely down with Downing street soft-soap, of which a never-failing supply was always at hand, than a most furious hue and cry again echoed through the old walls from another part of the house. Alarm and anxiety darted into the face of everyone present; all eyes stared in death-like gaze in the direction from whence it came. Smooth being in for a share of the alarm as well as the fun, looked along with the rest, when, lo! high on a seat in the corner, sat _Mr. Punch_, his comical face glowing through a sort of knot-hole and Toby perched on his right shoulder, growling and looking as if he wanted to bite every old fudge in the conclave. _Punch_, to outsecret the players, was, in a very clever sort of way, taking private notes, the subject matter of which he intended giving to his readers in a very condensed and elegant volume. This started the players to their feet, when each seized a book, and, letting fly at _Punch's_ head, drove him scampering out of Downing street.