Warbeck Wemyss consented, on terms. It was a ‘wrench,’ as Traddles would have said; but surely it was worth while. The lessons were a great amusement for the Prince. The going out into the passage; the entering the library, hat in hand; the surprise on Mr. Wemyss’s part; the little interchange on health and weather; the play with his monstrous gloves: the more elaborate lessons; introductions; forgetfulnesses; the assumption of grave interest while a humble Wemyss endeavoured to recall to him where they had met before; the pretended dinners; the new words; the manner of gallantry; the manner of confidence; the gestures and ejaculations of patience under a long anecdote—a thousand situations which pictured a new and delightful universe before his eyes. Dwala had the imitative faculty in perfection; he almost cried with humble joy when Wemyss clapped him on the shoulder, and assured him that he would make a gentleman of him in no time. Mr. Cato was delighted with the teacher’s reports: a little slapdash at first; rather random in the use of ‘rippin’’ and ‘awful bore,’ but quicker progress than he had ever seen.
XI
Meanwhile there were other things to raise Mr. Cato’s spirits. Parliament was back. The Government still held good, it is true, in spite of all rumours to the contrary; but opposition is exhilarating. Best of all, the Privy Council was in session. The Crown Officers, worn out with long obstructive sittings, made a poor fight of it: a dispute about a bit of land in Borneo was a small matter compared with the fate of a historic party. The judges were favourably impressed by the brusque appositeness of Mr. Cato’s counsel.
When Mr. Cato came back one day in a four-wheeler instead of the omnibus, his sisters knew that something extraordinary had happened.
‘We’ve won!’ he cried, sinking, smiling and exhausted, into an armchair.
Everybody shook hands with Dwala.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said, pressing each hand delicately, and laying his left hand on the top of it, in a graceful and engaging way which Mr. Wemyss had taught him. ‘You’re very kind.’ But he had no understanding of the news. Only at dinner, when a gold-necked bottle of Christmas champagne was produced and they all drank his health, he began to realise that it was something solemn and important.
XII
It was more solemn than anybody suspected. The news from the mines had been good; but it was nothing to what it was going to be. When Mr. Cato came home in the afternoon, two days later, he found a smart brougham at the door. On the hall table lay a card: ‘Baron Blumenstrauss.’ The famous Baron in his house! The drawing-room was empty. He went into the library. There he beheld an elderly bald-headed Jewish gentleman in a white waistcoat, with fat little purple hands clasping his spread knees, gazing with baggy eyes through dishevelled gold pince-nez at Prince Dwala, who lay back in an armchair, lids down, breathing heavily. At Mr. Cato’s entrance, the visitor took off his pince-nez and looked up.
‘It iss an extra-ordinary ting,’ he said: ‘de shendlemann ’as gone to sleep!’