For this reason I hold myself at liberty to deal with some portion of the truth concerning Penfentenyou's latest visit to Our shores. He arrived at my house by car, on a hot summer day, in a white waistcoat and spats, sweeping black frock-coat and glistening top-hat--a little rounded, perhaps, at the edges, but agile as ever in mind and body.
'What is the trouble now?' I asked, for the last time we had met, Penfentenyou was floating a three-million pound loan for his beloved but unscrupulous Province, and I did not wish to entertain any more of his financial friends.
'We,' Penfentenyou replied ambassadorially, 'have come to have a Voice in Your Councils. By the way, the Voice is coming down on the evening train with my Agent-General. I thought you wouldn't mind if I invited 'em. You know We're going to share Your burdens henceforward. You'd better get into training.'
'Certainly,' I replied. 'What's the Voice like?'
'He's in earnest,' said Penfentenyou. 'He's got It, and he's got It bad. He'll give It to you,' he said.
'What's his name?'
'We call him all sorts of names, but I think you'd better call him Mr. Lingnam. You won't have to do it more than once.'
'What's he suffering from?'
'The Empire. He's pretty nearly cured us all of Imperialism at home. P'raps he'll cure you.'
'Very good. What am I to do with him?'