But Speaker can count as well. "One-two—four—fourteen—twenty-seven—thirty-nine, forty," said he, with tone of conviction that precluded contradiction.
"Blow me tight!" said Tommy, coming out of the shrouds, a deathly pallor shining through his tan. That was not his exact expression; but it was equivalent to his remark.
Business done.—Quite a lot.
Vantage in (Sir E. Gr-y and Sir E. Ashm-d-B-rtl-tt.)
Tuesday.—Edward Grey is a hard nut for Irresponsible Verbosity to crack. Silomio, his jaws aching with attempts at crunching Sydney Buxton, sometimes turns to him, and goes away sorrowing. Tommy has a tuck in at him occasionally, but makes nothing of the job. To night Ambrose, Q.C., took him in hand. Drew up stupendous question on subject of Great Britain's relations with the Porte in respect of Armenia.
"That'll fetch him," he said, as he ogled the paper on which the question was set forth in bold type. Is there a treaty obligation, he wanted to know, as distinguished from mere discretionary right, authorising Great Britain to interfere in the affairs of Armenia, or make war upon the Porte? If so, specify the treaty and the particular article or articles creating such obligation.
This a bare summary of question, the drafting of which had cost Ambrose, Q.C., some sleepless nights. Silomio had looked over it; Tommy had touched it up; Bartley had beamed over it; Hanbury had hugged it. Grey's last hour (of course in Parliamentary sense) had evidently come. He had wriggled out of some earlier man traps set for him. This would settle him.
And this is what Grey said in reply:—"The article of the Treaty of Berlin relative to the point raised by the hon. member is the sixty-first."
Only that, and nothing more. The raven on the pallid bust of Pallas was scarcely more disappointingly laconic. There was a shocked pause; then allied forces swooped down on Under Secretary, crying, in chorus. Did the clause mean this? Did it mean that?