The possibility of my succeeding him temporarily struck me. What a chance to return home to my sick wife at once! It was the opportunity of a lifetime. A convention of delegates from all the colonies was at the time sitting in Melbourne. Every Premier was attending the convention. I hastened to the post office and wired to my old friend, Charles Cameron Kingston, still South Australia's Premier, notifying him of King-Harman's death, and asking him to arrange with the other Premiers to postpone the appointment of King-Harman's successor until the _Himalaya_ reached Melbourne, requesting permission at the same time to continue my journey in her to Melbourne, instead of landing at Adelaide. Our steamer sailed from Albany before I could receive an answer, so I also asked him to wire to me at Adelaide. I felt somehow that another streak of good fortune was coming my way. Sure enough, on arrival at Adelaide, a telegram awaited me from Kingston, instructing me to proceed to Melbourne. On arrival at Melbourne I at once went to Parliament House to see him, and told him of my wife's severe illness, which had compelled her to remain with the children in England, and I asked him to assist me in getting Harman's appointment. He handed me a copy of my own report of 1890, recommending that an officer _on_ the active list of the Royal Artillery should hold the position, on which recommendation the Premiers had acted. "Now," he said, "you are not on the 'active list of the Royal Artillery'; how can I possibly assist you?" I had had plenty of time on the way from Albany to Melbourne to think over this difficult point, which I had foreseen. I had my answer ready. I suggested to him that I should be appointed on loan, as it were, from Australia, for a term of one year, during which time I should be granted leave of absence from my appointment of Commandant of South Australia, to which position I would return at the end of the twelve months, and then an officer of the Royal Artillery on the active list could be selected. It was a big concession I was asking for, and I knew it. I said no more. I knew my man. Kingston grasped a point quicker than any man I have ever known, except perhaps Kitchener. Both disliked superfluous words. Well, Kingston just smiled and said: "Come and lunch with me to-morrow. Good morning."