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Rh a true picture, and it tells you who I am. I did make that railway. I have made thousands of miles of railway; I am making thousands of miles of railways—some in Europe, some in Asia, some in America. It's a true picture,' and he poked his stick through it and held it up to the crowd. 'A true picture: but for that spade and that railway, I shouldn't be now here asking your votes; and, when next February comes, I shouldn't be sitting in Westminster to represent you, as, by God's grace, I certainly will do. That tells you who I am. But now, will you tell me who Mr. Moffat is?'

'How about the brandy, Roger?'

'Oh, yes, the brandy! I was forgetting that and the little speech that is coming out of my mouth—a deal shorter speech, and a better one than what I am making now. Here, in the right hand you see is a brandy bottle. Well, boys, I'm not a bit ashamed of that; as long as a man does his work—and the spade shows that—it's only fair he should have something to comfort him. I'm always able to work, and few men work much harder, I'm always able to work, and no man has a right to expect more of me. I never expect more than that from those who work with me.'

'No more you don't, Roger: a little drop's very good, ain't it, Roger? Keeps the cold from the stomach, eh, Roger?'

'Then as to this speech, "Come, Jack, let's have a drop of some'at short." Why, that's a good speech, too. When I do drink I like to share with a friend; and I don't care how humble that friend is.'

'Hurrah! more power. That's true, too, Roger; may you never be without a drop to wet your whistle.'

'They say I'm the last new baronet. Well, I ain't ashamed of that; not a bit. When will Mr. Moffat get himself made a baronet? No man can truly say I'm too proud of it. I have never stuck myself up; no, nor stuck my wife up either: but I don't see much to be ashamed of because the bigwigs chose to make a baronet of me.'

'Nor, no more thee h'ant, Roger. We'd all be barrow-nites if so be we knew the way.'

'But now, having polished off this bit of a picture, let me ask you who Mr. Moffat is? There are pictures enough about him, too; though Heaven knows where they all come from. I think Sir Edwin Landseer must have done this one of the goose; it is so deadly natural. Look at it; there he is. Upon my word, whoever did that ought to make his fortune at some of these exhibitions. Here he is again with a big pair of scissors. He calls himself "England's honour;" what the deuce England's