“You must summon a council for four o’clock. I have some deputations to receive which I will throw over; but to Windsor I must go. Nothing has yet occurred to render any notice of the state of the country necessary in the speech from the Throne.”
“Not yet,” said his companion; “but what will to-morrow bring forth?”
“After all it is only a turn-out. I cannot recast her Majesty’s speech and bring in rebellion and closed mills, instead of loyalty and a good harvest.”
“It would be a bore. Well, we will see to-morrow;” and the colleague left the room.
“And now for these deputations,” said the gentleman in Downing Street, “of all things in the world I dislike a deputation. I do not care how much I labour in the Closet or the house; that’s real work; the machine is advanced. But receiving a deputation is like sham marching: an immense dust and no progress. To listen to their views! As if I did not know what their views were before they stated them! And to put on a countenance of respectful candour while they are developing their exploded or their impracticable systems. Were it not that at a practised crisis, I permit them to see conviction slowly stealing over my conscience, I believe the fellows would never stop. I cannot really receive these deputations. I must leave them to Hoaxem,” and the gentleman in Downing Street rang his bell.
“Well, Mr Hoaxem,” resumed the gentleman in Downing Street as that faithful functionary entered, “there are some deputations I understand, to-day. You must receive them, as I am going to Windsor. What are they?”
“There are only two, sir, of moment. The rest I could easily manage.”
“And these two?”
“In the first place, there is our friend Colonel Bosky, the members for the county of Calfshire, and a deputation of tenant farmers.”
“Pah!”