“I wonder what he means?” thought Boy, staring at the letters; he could make nothing of them, though, and was just going to walk away when he saw the Advertiser General looking out of one of the windows above the signboard. “Come in,” he called. “I want to speak to you very particularly.” Boy pushed the door open and found some steps inside which led up to a large studio, in which he found the Advertiser General and the Public Rhymester. They both rushed at him as soon as he entered the door and each seized one of his arms. “Please promise me your vote,” they both exclaimed in one breath. “Oh dear!” cried Boy, “I’m quite tired of telling everybody I have already voted.” The Advertiser General and the Public Rhymester both looked greatly disappointed, and each let go of his arm and went back to his work. “What are you doing, please?” inquired Boy. “Can’t you see?” replied the Advertiser General snappishly. “We’re making advertisements. Have you finished that Poem for Watzematta Tea yet?” he asked of the Public Rhymester. “Very nearly,” he replied with some confusion, hastily screwing up some paper which he held in his hands into a ball. “What’s that?” demanded the Advertiser General; “let me see.” The Public Rhymester handed him the ball of paper, which the Advertiser General carefully smoothed out. “Did any one ever see such rubbish?” he exclaimed after he had read it. “Why, you’ve mixed yourself up so with the tea that one can’t tell which is which. Just read this,” and he handed Boy the crumpled pieces of paper, on which were written the following words:= `Delicious Watzematta is a very soothing tea, `And when you’re voting for a King, oh, please remember me. `It’s cheaper far than other sorts; it’s flavour’s full and free-- `And that I’d make a charming King, I’m sure you’ll all agree.= `"One cup of Watzematta will equal any three `Of other kinds; it is so nice--and so am I, you see. `There never was another King so good as I will be. `Pour boiling water on it (the tea I mean, not me)."= “Well, it certainly is rather mixed,” said Boy when he had finished reading this curious advertisement. “Oh! I can’t settle down to anything till this Election is over,” complained the Public Rhymester. “How are you getting on?” he asked, walking over to where the Advertiser General was painting an enormous poster. “Why, you are as bad as I am,” he cried. “Look at that!” and he pointed to a part of the poster on which the Advertiser General had painted the words:= ``"Use Bluntpoint’s Needles. To be had of all ```respectable kings.” “Good gracious, I meant drapers, of course,” cried the Advertiser General, throwing down his brush. “Well, it’s evidently no use trying to work till after the Election; we are all far too excited.” “I was going to ask you,” said Boy, “what those words outside this house meant.”