“Who’s Jim?” asked Condor.
“Jim!” returned Slugby, “Jim—why, Jim’s the party in my district.”
“Oh yes—yes; I beg pardon,” said Condor; “the name had escaped me.”
“Well, I heard Jim say t’other day that Mr. William Condor was getting too d——d stuck up, and that he’d yank him out of his office if he didn’t mind his eye. That’s you, Condor; so I advise you to look out. It’s easy enough to manage Jim, if you take care. He’ll go as gently as a well-broke filly; but if he once takes a lurch—if he thinks you’re too 'proud’ or ‘big,’ it’s all up with you. So mind how you treat Jim.”
“Well, well,” said Belch, impatiently; “we’ve other business on hand now.”
“Exactly,” said Condor; “we are the Honorable Abel’s Jim. Turn about is fair play. Jim makes us go; we make Abel go. It’s a lovely series of checks and balances.”
He said it so quietly and airily that they all laughed. Then the General continued:
“We’re going to send Newt to look after Ele, and I rather think we shall have to send somebody to look after Newt. However, we’ll see. Let’s leave this hog to snore by himself.”
They rose as he spoke.
“What were the words of your resolution, Belch?” asked William Condor, with his eyes twinkling. “I don’t quite remember. Did you say,” he added, looking at Abel, who lay huddled, dead drunk, in his chair, “that he dedicated to his country his profoundest and sincerest, or sincerest and profoundest convictions?”