(I’m doubtful whether this ought to come out before Dora’s abolished. That’s why I wanted these papers to be edited in the United States by some indiscreet woman, where no action for libel lies. Colonel House did ask me to go to America when I saw him in Paris last May. There is a great temptation, for the climate goes from the Equator to the Pole, and a dear American Admiral friend of mine expatiated to me on the joy of laying hold of the hand of the summer girl at Palm Beach in Florida and never letting it go until you get to Bar Harbour in the State of Maine. I have had endless invitations and most hearty words from Florida to Maine, and from Passedena to Boston, and I have as many American dear friends as I have English.) Well! the Treasury could not make out how all those submarines were being built--where the devil the money was coming from; so these ferrets came over. I led a dog’s life, or rather a rabbit’s life, chased from hole to hole. Nothing came of it; and as an outcome of that time I left the Admiralty with 61 good submarines and 13 building. The Germans, thank God! had gone to the bottom with their first submarine, which never came up again, and the few more they had at that time were not much use. I must tell a story now. Mind! I don’t want to run down the Treasury. The Treasury is an absolutely necessary affliction. There was once a good Parsee ship-owner with a good Captain. But this Captain _would_ charge his owner with the cost of his carriage from his ship to the office. Not being far, the old Parsee thought the Captain ought to walk, and if he didn’t walk then he ought to pay for the cab himself. They call the carriages “buggies” at Bombay. However, when the old Parsee had to pay the bill next month--there it was: “Buggy--so many rupees.” He told his Captain he would pay that once but never again; and not finding it in the items of the bill presented the following month he gave the Captain his cheque. As the Captain put it in his pocket he said: “Buggy’s there!” That’s what happened to the Treasury and the submarines. I had a friend in the Accountant-General’s Department called “The Mole.” He taught me how to hide the money. I may observe I was called a “Mole.” It wasn’t a bad name. I was not seen or heard, but I was recognised by upheavals--“There is that damned fellow Fisher again, I will swear to it!” But, as David said, “Let us be abundantly satisfied” that we have such among us as McKennas and Runcimans. I should like to let those ferrets loose now. However, “Out of Evil Good comes.” Now comes a pardonable digression, I think.