“By George, you're splendid! I wish I could take a knock-out blow like that!”
“You'll have to one of these days. It's the only way of taking it. And now,” said I, in a businesslike tone, “I've told you all this with a purpose. At Wymington it will be a case of 'Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi!' The vacancy will have to be filled up at once. We'll have to find a suitable candidate. Have you one in your mind?”
“Not a soul.”
“I have.”
“Who?”
“You.”
“Me?” He nearly sprang into the air with astonishment.
“Why not?”
“They'd never adopt me.”
“I think they would,” I said. “There are men in the House as young as you. You're well known at Wymington and at headquarters as my right-hand man. You've done some speaking—you do it rather well; it's only your private conversational style that's atrocious. You've got a name familiar in public life up and down the country, thanks to your father and mother. It's a fairly safe seat. I see no reason why they shouldn't adopt you. Would you like it?”