FOOTNOTES:

[10] A kindly critic points out that the line is merely an exact translation from Lucan’s Pharsalia, II. 657—

“Nil actum credens, quum quid superesset agendum.”

CHAPTER VIII
H.M.I.

JUDGE (pianissimo): “It was managed by a job.”
ALL: “And a good job too.”—W. S. Gilbert.

I returned to the hunt after the elusive brief. The life of this class of hunter is familiar to readers of fiction. It is ex hypothesi without incident. Month after month went on, and the Woolsack came no nearer. But one night, dining at the Club, I met a friendly official from Whitehall. Had I heard that the Lord President was going to appoint a batch of Inspectors, and that he had expressed an opinion that the Inspectors of Returns were entitled to first claim? I had heard nothing, but the idea took root, and I made immediate application.

It happened by specially good fortune that my father knew two of the Ministry, one of whom was in the Cabinet. The services of both statesmen were invoked; my former chief in North Wales supported me, rather out of the goodness of his heart, I fear, than out of conviction, for he regarded me as a firebrand; and others, of whom the most helpful and thorough was my former tutor at Rugby, the present Dean of Wells, did kindest service. In a few days a letter from the Lord President to the friendly Cabinet Minister was forwarded to my father; it ran thus:

“Dear ——

I have had great pleasure in putting your friend Mr. Kynnersley’s name on my list.

Yours sincerely,
Carabas.”

And on a folded corner was a note: “Thanks for appointing X.Y.” It was evident that X.Y. and I had been bartered. I always regret that I did not make a note of X.Y.’s real name, so that I might have followed up his public career.

Last scene of all. Some three weeks later my clerk, of whom indeed I owned barely one-fourth undivided share, came to my lodgings before I had breakfasted, with the extraordinary news that there was a brief for me in Chambers. This had never occurred before. There were briefs at Sessions and Assizes, few and far between, but in Paper Buildings hitherto the solicitors had respected the privacy of my apartment. I took a hansom as soon as possible, and drove to the Temple. There on the table was a real brief, and side by side with it lay an official envelope containing my appointment as “one of H.M. Inspectors of Schools.” This was dramatic. I accepted the brief, which instructed me to examine a bankrupt in Chambers, and I examined him accordingly. Never was I more convinced of my unpreparedness for the Woolsack.

It remained to interview the Secretary of the Department; and to leave a card on the Lord President, who regretted that he was so busy that he could not see me. Bear in mind that I did not see him; my thanks were received vicariously by his private secretary.

Now let me pause. Should I have “told tales out of school” about that letter? I doubt. And yet I decide in favour of the reader. As far as I am concerned, I think meanly of the man who will hide a good story because it is to his own disparagement; and I think that the Marquis of Carabas is untouched in his honour, I would even say in his judgment. Remember that I had all necessary qualifications for the post, including practical experience, in addition to good testimonials. And then you admit that it was an admirable appointment? That being so, I will let the story stand.

Some twenty-five years afterwards it happened that I was on a cycling tour, and chance brought me to a noble park which, by the courtesy of the owner, was open to cyclists. At the entrance there was the usual instruction to cyclists to ring a bell on approaching people or carriages; but bell-ringing had already fallen into disuse as an indispensable ceremony, though retained for emergencies. Therefore, when I saw a wagonette drawn up in the middle of the park road, I did not ring; it was the first year of “free-wheelers,” and I merely slackened pace, and planned circumvention of the carriage. In the wagonette sat an elderly gentleman, who looked reproachfully at me and said, “Yes, but you didn’t ring your bell.” The experienced Civil Servant acquires a habit of not “answering back”; he keeps silence even from good words, and I did not reply that I never rang a bell unless I wanted something; that I did not wish him to move; nor had I any intention of running into his carriage, which would have buckled my front wheel. Merely I looked at him with some surprise, and rode on pondering on the phenomenon.

Suddenly it flashed across my mind that this was the monarch of all he surveyed—my Lord of Carabas, formerly Lord President of the Council, patron of my youth, whom I had failed to see when I called in Whitehall; through whose discernment in the selection of Inspectors I had been battening on the Consolidated Fund for a quarter of a century. Ring a bell! I would have rung a triple bob major. Should I go back, and explain, ringing carillons as I drew near? Long before I could decide, I had left the park far behind. It was a Hard Case, such as the ingenious editor of Vanity Fair propounds for solution every week. What should A. do?

This is quite irrelevant to the preparations for my assumption of office. I had to pass a medical examination, and then I was gazetted. In that day, and up to 1903, Inspectors of Schools were actually appointed by the Sovereign in Council, and for this reason they were really entitled to the prefix H.M., which is assumed by many other inspectors “of lesser breed.”[11]

This being done, I bade an informal farewell to the Bar, and put away my wig and gown in a safe place, to be resumed if I were dismissed from office. Once only was an attempt made to entice me back to the Law Courts. At a London hotel, some few years after my appointment, I met a County Court Judge whom I had known in his caterpillar stage. He hailed me. Had I heard that old Z., County Court Judge at Y., was dying? I did not know the man, but I expressed decent regret.

“I thay, Kynnerthley,” he went on, with the lisp so familiar to many common juries, “why thouldn’t you go in for hith plathe? I know —— hath much interetht with the Government, and he would get it for you.”

“My dear Judge,” I said, “you forget that I have left the Bar some time, and that when I was at it I had no practice.”

He looked at me pityingly: “What doth that matter? Do you know Q., now County Court Judge at Dufferby? Give you my word he hadn’t got a wig and gown.”

“Good gracious! why did the Chancellor appoint him?”

“He taught in Thunday Thcoolth in Twaddleton.”

Alas! I had not even that scanty qualification, and I did not apply. The suitors at Y. have much to be thankful for.