And then he went down to his office, and saw in the glance of every
man that he met an announcement that that article in the _Jupiter_
had been read. His private secretary tittered in evident allusion to
the article, and the way in which Buggins took his coat made it clear
that it was well known in the messengers’ lobby. “He won’t have to
fill up my vacancy when I go,” Buggins was saying to himself. And
then in the course of the morning came the cabinet council, the
second that he had attended, and he read in the countenance of every
god and goddess there assembled that their chief was thought to have
made another mistake. If Mr. Supplehouse could have been induced to
write in another strain, then indeed that new blood might have been
felt to have been efficacious.
All this was a great drawback to his happiness, but still it could
not rob him of the fact of his position. Lord Brock could not ask him
to resign because the _Jupiter_ had written against him; nor was Lord
Brock the man to desert a new colleague for such a reason. So Harold
Smith girded his loins, and went about the duties of the Petty Bag
with new zeal. “Upon my word, the _Jupiter_ is right,” said young
Robarts to himself, as he finished his fourth dozen of private notes
explanatory of everything in and about the Petty Bag Office. Harold
Smith required that his private secretary’s notes should be so
terribly precise.
But nevertheless, in spite of his drawbacks, Harold Smith was happy
in his new honours, and Mrs. Harold Smith enjoyed them also. She
certainly, among her acquaintance, did quiz the new cabinet minister
not a little, and it may be a question whether she was not as hard
upon him as the writer in the _Jupiter_. She whispered a great deal
to Miss Dunstable about new blood, and talked of going down to
Westminster Bridge to see whether the Thames were really on fire. But
though she laughed, she triumphed, and though she flattered herself
that she bore her honours without any outward sign, the world knew
that she was triumphing, and ridiculed her elation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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