He remained surprisingly popular, considering the maladroitness of one of his aide-de-camps—a delightful Guardsman who is now dead. I have heard this A.D.C., whom Nature had gifted with the most graceful manners, say appalling things.
At one provincial capital, the mayor gave a ball in Lord Derby’s honour. I had just been presented to the mayor, and was standing quite close to him, when Lord Derby came in. When the official presentation was over, Lord Derby, who always wished to get on a friendly footing with his hosts, asked his A.D.C. in a whisper, “What is the mayor, M——?” The Governor-General wished to know if his host bred cattle, or ran a timber-mill, or owned a hotel, or what, so that he might say the appropriate thing. But the A.D.C.’s reply, which, like Lord Derby’s “What is the mayor, M——?”, was perfectly audible to that functionary, was “Toned-down Jew.” So much for the entente cordiale at—we will call it Medicine Hat.
At a ball given by Lord Derby, I watched that same A.D.C. taking an important politician, whom he should have known perfectly well, to introduce him to his own wife, a young and pretty woman who considered herself one of the lions of Canadian society. The situation struck me as a promising one, so I listened to hear what he would say.
“Mrs. Um,” he said; “may I introduce Mr. Um-um to you?” She looked up at him with an amused smile, and he continued quite blissfully, “He’s a stupid old buffer, but I’ll get you away from him as soon as I can.”
CHAPTER XXVI
MY TRAVELLER FRIENDS
Considering the number of years which I have devoted to travel, I have not met a great many explorers, certainly nothing like so many as I should have met if I had been a regular attendant at the meetings of the Royal Geographical Society. These interest me extremely, but I have an unfortunate habit of going to sleep at lectures, however interesting I find them, so I shrink from going to them. Otherwise I should have joined the society long ago, and been a regular attendant.
The last time I went there was many years ago, when a great explorer and mighty hunter had just returned from Mashonaland. He read an immensely interesting paper; I quite forgot to go to sleep. Among the speakers who followed was a pompous old gentleman, who scourged the lecturer with the most inane platitudes, winding up with the question, “May I ask the lecturer what he thinks of the climate of Mashonaland?” and the explorer replied, “There’s nothing wrong with the climate of Mashonaland, but it isn’t the sort of place where you could get drunk and lie all night in the gutter, without knowing about it the next morning.”
The old gentleman gasped, and so, I think, did the audience, but the lecturer seemed quite unconscious that he had done anything beyond giving sound advice.
My friendship with the famous Dr. George Ernest Morrison, of Peking, I have described in the chapter on Australians. When I was living in Melbourne, I saw a good deal at the Melbourne Club of Augustus Gregory, one of the doyens of Australian exploration, actually the first, I believe, to accomplish the transcontinental journey successfully. He told me that when their supplies ran short, the things they missed most in the terrific heat were fat and sugar. When their water ran short, they more than once refilled their water-bottles by wringing the dew out of their blankets.