The emerald of Catherine the Great

by Hilaire Belloc

"Rather!" said that solid individual. "That's my name here," and he winked. "What my name may be elsewhere we both know, eh?" and he winked again.

Sudden Entry of Mr. Collop.

"Ah, Mr. Collop—it is to be Mister, is it not?"

"Yes, Mister," answered the gentleman solemnly, "not Miss nor Master. Who ye're kidding?" He did not say it insolently. He knew his place. He knew he was talking to the Home Secretary. He said, "Who ye're kidding?" by way of a respectful jest.

"Mr. Collop.... Yes.... Mr. Collop...." stuttered the Home Secretary like a man half stunned. "We expected ... ah! ... you will pardon me? ... a Mr. Brailton; yes, a Mr. Brailton.... Eh? Shall I ... ah! ... if by any accident there should be a mistake?"

"There's no mistake," said the genial Collop, "old Brailton 'twas to be! You're right there, mister! But he was that sick he asked me to run down. ''Tis only a suburb job,' says he. So here I am!"

The Home Secretary whispered to his daughter in an agony: "Can't we stop it? Shall we telephone?"

"Too late now—before dressing," said the despairing girl. "I'll tell you when I hear."