As we walked back towards Downing Street, my friend talked on incessantly about the advantages I might derive from doing this thing creditably. They were sure to make a Blue Book out of my report, and who knows if my name would not be mentioned in the House? At all events, the newspapers would have it; and the Government would be obliged,—they could n't help giving me something. “You'll have proved yourself a man of capacity,” said he, “and that's enough. S. does like smart fellows under him, he is so quick himself; sees a thing with half an eye, and reads a man just as he reads a book.” He rattled along in this fashion, alternately praising the great man, and assuring me that I was exactly the sort of fellow to suit him. “He 'll not burden you with instructions, but what he tells you will be quite sufficient; he is all clearness, conciseness, and accuracy. There's only one caution I have to give you,—don't ask him a question, follow closely all he says, and never ask him to explain anything that puzzles you. To suppose that he has not expressed himself clearly is a dire offence, mind that; and now, here we are. Crosby, is my Lord upstairs?” asked he of the porter; and receiving a bland nod in reply, he led the way to the Minister's cabinet.
“I 'll ask to see him first myself,” whispered he, as he sent in his card.
Now, though my friend was an M.P., and a stanch supporter of the party, he manifested a considerable amount of anxiety and uneasiness when waiting for the noble secretary's reply. It came at last.
“Can't possibly see you now, sir. Will meet you at the House at five o'clock.”
“Will you kindly tell his Lordship I have brought with me the gentleman I spoke to him about yesterday evening? He will know for what.”
The private secretary retired sullenly, and soon returned to say, “The gentleman may come in; my Lord will speak to him.”
The next moment I found myself standing in a comfortably furnished room, in front of a large writing-table, at which an elderly man with a small head, scantily covered with gray hair, was writing. He did not cease his occupation as I entered, nor notice me in any manner as I approached, but went on repeating to himself certain words as he wrote them; and at last, laying down his pen, said aloud, with a faint chuckle, “and your Excellency may digest it how you can.”
I gave a very slight cough. He looked up, stared at me, arose, and, walking to the fire, stood with his back to it for a couple of seconds without speaking. I could see that he had some difficulty in dismissing the topic which had just occupied him, and was only arriving at me by very slow stages and heavy roads.
“Eh!” said he, at last; “you are the man of the paper. Not the 'Times '—but the—the—what's it?”
“No, my Lord. I'm the other man,” said I, quietly.