the official clock. “But what first put you in motion in this
direction?”
“I have been always of opinion,” began the Assistant Commissioner.
“Ah. Yes! Opinion. That’s of course. But the immediate motive?”
“What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man’s antagonism to old
methods. A desire to know something at first hand. Some
impatience. It’s my old work, but the harness is different. It
has been chafing me a little in one or two tender places.”
“I hope you’ll get on over there,” said the great man kindly,
extending his hand, soft to the touch, but broad and powerful like
the hand of a glorified farmer. The Assistant Commissioner shook
it, and withdrew.
In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge
of a table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy.
“Well? Satisfactory?” he asked, with airy importance.
“Perfectly. You’ve earned my undying gratitude,” answered the
Assistant Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in contrast
with the peculiar character of the other’s gravity, which seemed
perpetually ready to break into ripples and chuckles.
“That’s all right. But seriously, you can’t imagine how irritated
he is by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation of
Fisheries. They call it the beginning of social revolution. Of
course, it is a revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no
decency. The personal attacks – ”
“I read the papers,” remarked the Assistant Commissioner.
“Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass of work he has
got to get through every day. He does it all himself. Seems
unable to trust anyone with these Fisheries.”
“And yet he’s given a whole half hour to the consideration of my
very small sprat,” interjected the Assistant Commissioner.
“Small! Is it? I’m glad to hear that. But it’s a pity you didn’t
keep away, then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The
man’s getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans on my arm
as we walk over. And, I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins
has been marching his men up here this afternoon. There’s a
constable stuck by every lamp-post, and every second person we meet
between this and Palace Yard is an obvious `tec.’ It will get on
his nerves presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels aren’t
likely to throw something at him – are they? It would be a
national calamity. The country can’t spare him.”
“Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm,” suggested the
Assistant Commissioner soberly. “You would both go.”
“It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history?
Not so many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it
a minor incident. But seriously now – ”
“I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you’ll have
to do something for it. Seriously, there’s no danger whatever for
both of you but from overwork.”
The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle.
“The Fisheries won’t kill me. I am used to late hours,” he
declared, with ingenuous levity. But, feeling an instant
compunction, he began to assume an air of statesman-like moodiness,
as one draws on a glove. “His massive intellect will stand any
amount of work. It’s his nerves that I am afraid of. The
reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at their head,
insult him every night.”
“If he will insist on beginning a revolution!” murmured the
Assistant Commissioner.
“The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for the
work,” protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the
calm, speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere in
a corridor a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted
vigilance the young man pricked up his ears at the sound. “He’s
ready to go now,” he exclaimed in a whisper, snatched up his hat,
and vanished from the room.
The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less
elastic manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked
along a narrow street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental
buildings. He kept up this accelerated pace to the door of his
private room. Before he had closed it fairly his eyes sought his