Dimmy thought. “I don’t know,” he answered after a long examination of possible engagements.
“Well, you’ve got to be here for the division anyhow.”
“Oh yes,” said Dimmy. His high record of divisions was the sheet anchor of his soul: he had sat up all night sixteen times.
“Well,” said the Prime Minister hesitating, as though after all he didn’t want to drink a cup of tea, “you might see me then ... no, come along now.”
And as they drank their tea he told his companion that there was to be a change in the Cabinet.
“Now,” he said, “I want to leave you perfectly free.” He seemed to be suffering a little as he said it, but he went on tenaciously: “I want to leave you perfectly free; ... but of course you know your name has been put before me?”
“I don’t know,” began Demaine.
The Prime Minister stopped him with his hand. “Well, anyhow it has.” He paused and thought. “I can’t tell how it would suit you, but I think I can tell how you would suit it. Now on that point I’m satisfied, Dimmy. You know the kind of work it is?”
But Demaine didn’t know.
“Well,” said the Prime Minister, leaning back easily and joining his hands, “it’s like all those things: you’ve got your staff ... in one way the work’s cut and dried. It’s very varied work. No man can be expected to grasp it all round. But,” (leaning forward) “like all these things, it wants a sort of general point of view, you understand me?”