“Then I 'll tell you,” burst in Tony; “she asks the old brother-officer of her husband—the man who in his letters called himself his brother—to befriend his son, and there's nothing like a petition in the whole of it.”
“What! what! what! This is something I 'm not accustomed to! You want to make friends, young man, and you must not begin by outraging the very few who might chance to be well disposed towards you.”
Tony stood abashed and overwhelmed, his cheeks on fire with shame, but he never uttered a word.
“I have very little patronage,” said Sir Harry, drawing himself up and speaking in a cold, measured tone; “the colonies appoint their own officials, with a very few exceptions. I could make you a bishop or an attorney-general, but I could n't make you a tide-waiter! What can you do? Do you write a good hand?”
“No, sir; it is legible,—that's all.”
“And of course you know nothing of French or German?”
“A little French; not a word of German, sir.”
“I'd be surprised if you did. It is always when a fellow has utterly neglected his education that he comes to a Government for a place. The belief apparently is that the State supports a large institution of incapables, eh?”
“Perhaps there is that impression abroad,” said Tony, defiantly.
“Well, sir, the impression, as you phrase it, is unfounded, I can affirm. I have already declared it in the House, that there is not a government in Europe more ably, more honestly, or more zealously served than our own. We may not have the spirit of discipline of the French, or the bureaucracy of the Prussian; but we have a class of officials proud of the departments they administer; and, let me tell you,—it's no small matter,—very keen after retiring pensions.”