Dawson, William (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Mystery and detective stories
"God forbid!" cried the Scottish Secretary hastily. "These aggressive
and troublesome workmen are no countrymen of mine. It is true," he
added pensively, "that when I am in the North I claim that a somewhat
shadowy Scottish ancestry makes of me a Scot to the finger tips, but
no sooner do I cross the Border upon my return to London than I revert
violently to my English self. A kindly Providence has ordained that
the central Scottish Office should be in London, and my urgent duties
compel me to reside there permanently. Which is indeed fortunate. It
is true that technically my responsibilities cover everything, or
nearly everything, which occurs in the unruly North, but I do not
interfere with the discretion of those on the spot who know the local
conditions and can deal adequately with them. I am content to rest my
action upon the advice of those responsible authorities whose
considered opinions have been quoted by the Prime Minister."
The Prime Minister smiled no more. The wheel which he had jogged so
agreeably had come full round, and, in colloquial speech, had biffed
him in the eye. He fumbled the papers once more, and frowned.
"It seems to me," plaintively put in the First Lord of the Admiralty
(a political chief very different from the one whom Dawson encountered
in Chapter XII), "though I am a child in these high matters, that no
one is ever responsible for the exercise of those duties with which he
is nominally charged. For, consider my own case. Though I am the First
Lord, and attend daily at the Admiralty, I am convinced that the
active and accomplished young gentleman whom I had the misfortune to
succeed regards himself as still responsible to the people of this
country for the disposition and control of the Fleets. At least that
is the not unnatural impression which I derive from his frequent
speeches and newspaper articles."
There was a general laugh, in which all joined except the War Minister
and Dawson. They were not politicians.
"If there is a big strike," growled the War Minister, "the Spring
Offensive will be off. It is threatened now, very seriously. I am
months behind with my howitzers."
His colleagues looked reproachfully at the famous warrior, and shifted
uneasily in their chairs. He had an uncomfortable habit of blurting
forth the most unpleasant truths.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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