But George was boiling. “How would you like it----” he began shouting.... When the door opened and there was announced with extreme solemnity Mr. Pickle, Mr. Hogge, Mr. Gracechurch, Mr. Fuell, Mr. Nydd, Sir John Clegg, Lord Cuthbertson, and last but by no means least, Mr. Howll.... One would have said that nothing had happened. There were three doors to the room--as is proper to every room in which farces are played. Through one of these Edward very gently led the stiff but still burning George. Through the second appeared an official gentleman commonly present at interviews of this kind. Through the third the deputation had entered; and the young and popular Prime Minister, all sympathy, all heart, all ears, all teeth, all intelligence, heard such an indictment of the maladministration of Spitzbergen by the infamous King of Bohemia as he had perhaps not listened to more than thirty-eight times during the course of the last two years. Edward took George by the arm through room after room, down a corridor, into a hall, then as though by magic an excellent motor appeared. They got in, Edward still making himself perfectly charming, Dimmy in a constrained attitude stretched tangentially to the edge of the seat, and the motor drove them for a very great number of miles, during which journey Edward learned all the main story; the robbery, the refuge aboard-ship, the escape, and the fortunate discovery of William Bailey. George was given to understand with that method and insistence most proper to his character that _that_ story had better be forgotten and that only what he had been given to read,--and only the gist of that,--might very well be published to his wife and to the world.... It was an understood matter. George did now and then like to row and fish; a friend had asked him to run down to Port Victoria--it was only an hour; the friend hadn’t turned up. George only meant to go out for a minute, put up the sprits’l like a fool, got blown right away in front of a so’wester into the Swin; then the wind going round a point-o’-two got blown, begad, right over the Gunfleet. High tide luckily, and the rest naturally followed. These nautical experiences filled George with doubts. “There wasn’t any so’wester,” he said with bovine criticism. “You silly ass,” said Edward, “who notices a thing like that in London?” “You’d notice it at sea,” said George with profound conviction. “Anyhow, unless you want a good story against you to the end of your life, you’ve got to be outside for thirty-six hours, and you’ve got to land a dam long way off from Parham,--I can tell you that!” said Edward firmly. And George agreed.