Hadrian pressed the slim brown hand, on which the cardinalitial sapphire looked so absolutely lovely,
"Perhaps, Percy:" He said.
"I think I won't go back to Dynam House this fall," the cardinal continued. "They can do without me, Holiness. If I'm any good to You here, I'm no quitter so long as my eyes remain black."
"You always are good and useful to Us, Venerable Father," the Pope very stiffly said, as He quickly passed through the curtains of the secret antechamber.
Now the world had something to talk about beside the chances of universal war, and the inferiority of the present Pope. When the dispersal of the treasures of the Vatican was announced in the Sacred Consistory, five cardinals walked straight out to swear, four burst into tears, eight spoke their minds quite freely and (in the case of two) at the top of their voices, and the rest were dumb. Ragna, Berstein, Cacciatore, and Vivole came to the conclusion that Hadrian's new move was a pontifical red-herring intended to divert the scent from the newspaper-calumnies against George Arthur Rose. They went about trying to make people see the thing from their point of view. Kelts and Catholics throughout the world set up howls; and compared Hadrian to Honorius to the advantage of the latter. "From a Catholic point of view," wrote one clerical gentleman (who in youth, as an attaché in Paris, had been known as La Belle Anthropophage), "it is impossible to blame Hadrian too severely." He was ruined, they said with unctuous rectitude; and He was going to sell the Vatican Treasures in order to provide an iniquitous provision for a disreputable and private old age. Naturally they judged by their own standard. All Catholics do.
The Liblab Fellowship congratulated itself on the possession of such a Fellowshipper as Sant. His diplomacy was thought cute. Socialists hourly expected to hear that the Scarlet Unutterable, in sheer despair, had asked to be allowed to seek a refuge in their ranks. Jerry Sant sat-up all night at the Hotel Nike, in case the Pope should be moved to escape from a throne which had been made too hot for Him. In the event of such an escape, of course "His Most Reverent Lordship" would come and try and make peace with them as He had put to so much unnecessary trouble and expense. So the Liblab cut and dried his plans. He would administer the oaths to God's Vicegerent: take His entrance-fee and annual subscription in advance; and admit Him as a Fellowshipper. Then, as His senior comrade, He would order Him back to Vatican to use His popery for carrying out the schemes of Labor against Capital. Incidentally he would take the opportunity of transferring some of the pontifical capital from a man as didn't to a man as did deserve it. However, Jerry gave himself two sleepless nights for nothing. He would have been better, though perhaps not quite so comely, in bed. And then, on the third day, Mrs. Crowe rushed in, displaying a tantrum which was a blend of joy and hate and fear.
"I suppose this is your work, Mr. Sant?" she said, bringing a cutting from the Catholic Hour out of her chain-bag.
"Imphm," Jerry grinned like an oblong gargoyle.
"Oh how could you say such things about Him! I do think it shocking of you!"