My Dear Charles,—I don't know that I think so much of these alliances after all, and I'll tell you why.
When I first heard that my old friend Italy was in trouble I paraded my officer at once. "Stand to attention, George," I said, "and tell me what we are going to do about it."
"Oh, that'll be all right," said he. "I've booked my seat in the train."
I think that George, my subordinate, sometimes forgets who I am and what importance attaches to me. I feel that he ought at least to consult me formally before he decides what instructions I am going to issue to him. After all, I am only fifteen years younger than he is.
"You will proceed forthwith to Italy," I said, "and will there study the local conditions on the spot. You will then take such action as the occasion seems to you to demand." George was cleaning out his pipe, so for once he didn't interrupt. "You will report progress to me in triplicate."
George frowned. Having been the Supreme White Man in some African district for dozens of years before the War, all his hair seems to have got into his eyebrows, and his frown is a terrible thing to see.
"At any rate," I said, "you might just drop me a post-card to tell me how you're getting on."
George's eyebrows stood at ease and then stood easy.
"It's all very well for you," I added. "But what about me, when it comes to totting up your travelling allowances later on?"
George has private means, which work out at about one-and-fourpence, less income tax, a day. Consequently he is a little careless about money matters. "Oh, that'll be all right," he said.