“There is no doubt about it,” he continued, “that the attitude of the French Press lately towards the Queen, and their comments on the Transvaal War, have caused a very bitter feeling in this country, and in several instances I have had to make it a personal favour to myself to get the pictures at all. Indeed, the fear has been so great that the exhibition might be burnt down, or the canvases cut and destroyed, that I almost gave up all idea of a representative English collection in despair; and, although I have insured the pictures for a large sum from their owner’s door till their ultimate return, I shall not be happy in my mind until the exhibition is over and they are back again. The present mistrust of the French people is extraordinary, and the sort of feeling current that we may go to war with France has made it very difficult.” A few years later the influence of King Edward did much to create a better understanding with France. The Lord Mayor’s documents coming in for signature reminded me of a millionaire, who has much to do with the issue of shares and can sign his name fourteen or fifteen hundred times in an hour. “I often do that,” he said; “in fact, two or three times in a year. But the greatest number of times I ever signed my name in a week was once in Paris when we were bringing out a new company; then I signed my name thirty-three thousand times in one week.” “How on earth do you manage it?” I exclaimed. “Does a secretary pass the papers before you and blot them as you sign?” “I have no secretary and no one blots them,” he replied. “A book, containing from one to three hundred documents, is put before me, and I lift each one with my left hand while I sign with my right. I don’t stop to blot them, they blot themselves—or smudge,” he laughed; “and as each book is completed I throw it on the floor and take up another from the table beside me. Every hour or so one of the clerks comes in, and wheels the signed books away on a trolley and places another bundle on the table. I sometimes sign my name for three hours straight off, which means four thousand to four thousand five hundred signatures without rising from my seat.” “I am going to assist at a bazaar,” I exclaimed, “and I really think it would be a splendid idea to put you in a little room dressed up in gorgeous Eastern attire, charge sixpence for admission, and write in large letters on the outside: “‘The man who can sign his name fifteen hundred times in an hour!’ We should make quite a lot of money.” He laughed. Writer’s cramp never troubled him.