“More men, more guns!” he said. “An elementary education in common sense for the officers, and the rudiments of grammar if there’s time!”
“Good heavens, Mr. Bacot, you mustn’t say such things. I thought you were a Conservative.”
“Madam, I stood for the constituency in ’85. I may say that if a Conservative member could have got in, I should have been elected. But there are limits. Even the staunch Conservative will turn. Now look at General Hancock.”
“Please don’t talk so loud,” said Miss Ley, with alarm, for Mr. Bacot had instinctively adopted his platform manner, and his voice could be heard through the whole garden.
“Look at General Hancock, I say,” he repeated, taking no notice of the interruption. “Is that the sort of man whom you would wish to have the handling of ten thousand of your sons?”
“Oh, but be fair,” cried Miss Ley, laughing. “They’re not all such fools as poor General Hancock.”
“I give you my word, madam, I think they are.... As far as I can make out, when a man has shown himself incapable of doing anything else they make him a general, just to encourage the others. I understand the reason. It’s a great thing, of course, for parents sending their sons into the army to be able to say, ‘Well, he may be a fool, but there’s no reason why he shouldn’t become a general.’”
“You wouldn’t rob us of our generals,” said Miss Ley; “they’re so useful at tea-parties. In my young days the fool of the family was sent into the Church, but now, I suppose, he’s sent into the army.”
Mr. Bacot was about to make a very heated retort when Edward called to him—
“We want you to make up a set at tennis. Will you play with Miss Hancock against my wife and the General? Come on, Bertha.”