"Must I?" replied the younger man, reluctantly.
"Of course you must," asserted Sir Percival. Then more loudly he continued:
"Genius in every line, and more between them. My dear Dyke, we must have you in England."
"You think so, Sir Percival?" said the old gentleman, greatly flattered.
"I am sure of it," answered the other as though convinced, returning the poem to its author. "But once you are there, no seditious political versifying like this. Why, sir, the Prince would foam at the mouth if he saw this. Love lyrics, sir, for the ladies. That must be your game, dear man."
Mr. Dyke hardly knew which to regard as the greater compliment, the implication that he had but to exert himself to write poetry that would be pleasing to the fair sex of London, or the assertion that the satire of his latest production was sufficient to cause annoyance even to Royalty itself. Still not quite decided in regard to the matter, he blew his nose resoundingly and modestly replied:
"I would restrain my opinions, since I cannot change them."
Sir Percival winked wickedly at Brooking to draw the latter's attention to his next remark.
"Have you thought over my proposal, Mr. Dyke?"
"I have given it much deliberation," answered that worthy, in a tone that but ill concealed the delight occasioned him by the mere suggestion of such an idea.