London Talker.  All right—­I’ll get on.  But now tell me, do I pitch my voice about right now?  Can you catch distinctly all I say?

Paris Listener.  Oh yes!  Bother!  But do get on.  Timesgoifast.

London Talker.  What?  I didn’t catch that last word.  Time’s what?

Paris Listener (very distinctly, with emphasis).  I said—­that—­time—­was—­going fast.  Can you hear that?

London Talker.  Oh yes, I can hear that, and most distinctly.  Really, it is a most wonderful invention.

Paris Listener.  Oh, bother the invention!  Do come to business!  What did you want me for?

London Talker.  Oh. of course.  Well, it was just this.  I thought—­

Inexorable Official.  Time’s up, Sir.  Trouble you to make room for this Lady.

    [Switches him “off,” and turns him out.

* * * * *

“THAT CON-FOUNDLAND DOG!”

Mr. JOHN BULL loquitur:—­

  “Love me, love my Dog!” Well, I don’t want to flog
    The fine but excitable fellow. 
  With a nip on his tail e’en a Bull wouldn’t fail
    To bounce round a bit, and to bellow. 
  I’d do my square best with the greatest good will,
  If only he’d—­just for a moment—­stand still.

  Stand still, with a nip like crocodile’s grip
    On one’s caudal appendage?  Ah, just so! 
  I know ’tis a task that seems too much to ask. 
    I’m reasonable,—­or I trust so. 
  But there is the Lobster, it’s holding on fast. 
  And—­hang it! this state of affairs cannot last!

  How came it about?  That’s a matter of doubt,
    Which there isn’t much use in discussing,
  To part them’s my aim; I would manage that same
    Without either fighting or fussing. 
  Newfoundland or not, there’s no dog finds it nice
  To live very long with its tail in a vice!

  I want to get near if I can, but, oh dear! 
    The Dog to my call won’t attend.  I
  Conceive, if he would, it might be for his good,
    I’d hit on some modus vivendi. 
  But if Dog won’t stand still, and if Lobster won’t loose,
  My heartiest help cannot be of much use.

  One ANDROCLES bold eased a lion of old
    Of a thorn in his foot—­a great worry! 
  But ANDROCLES, sure, would have failed of a cure
    If poor Leo had kept on the scurry,
  As you, my dear Dog, do at present. Verb. sap.!
  Do just let me get at the Lobster, old chap!

  While it’s fast to your tail, and you wriggle and wail,
    And romp all around, the best master,
  And kindest of heart, Dog and Lobster can’t part.
    Don’t think I deride your disaster! 
  The pinch of it might make an elephant prance;
  No, all that I ask is—­just give me a chance!