“Oh, yes, Noll--I know. They call him the Napoleon of the Press in the newspapers. In his own newspapers ... yes,” said Horace drily; and added judicially, making every allowance for the defendant: “Of course, the old gentleman _may_ be the Napoleon of the Press--perhaps he is. I don’t see why I should wrangle about that. And I’m bound to say that, since they called him so, he has shaved off his city whiskers and keeps his hand thrust into the breast of his frock-coat, and pretends to think a lot, and isn’t so beastly familiar with millionaires. He wanted to wear a grey overcoat last winter, but I had to draw the line. You see, the old man has no flare for the subtleties.” Doome coughed in the darkness: “How did you break it to him, Horace?” he asked drily. Horace pshawed: “I told him he couldn’t do it--he’d be getting into a damned black cocked hat next,” he sighed heavily: “I hate to be rude to my father,” he said--“it always hurts me more than it does him.” There was a long silence. “I don’t think, Horace,” said Noll, “that you make allowances for your father.” “Well, there’s something in that,” said Horace. “However, we’ll allow that the old gentleman is the Napoleon of the Press. And of course he and the mother are in the thick of life. Indeed, the mother’s gowns are always described in the morning paper after a big social function--and, by St. Paquin, it’s extraordinary how well they sound in _print_; yet--I don’t know how it is--for she is a comely woman--but when you put a gold ornament upon my mother it looks like brass--she’s one of those women who, when she hangs diamonds round her neck, looks like a ball-room chandelier. She’s as sound as the apostles beneath her stays, but she has about as much taste as a housemaid--or the House of Brunswick. Then, the old gentleman dines with old Lord Bardolph Nankhill--sits at meat with Cabinet Ministers--and has been seen at Marlborough House. All that, of course, cannot do him any real harm. But--the Dignity of Literature! and to a learned society! No ... it can’t be done.” “Why?” asked Doome. “Society accepts the words of an associate of Cabinet Ministers in a Tory Government as revelation sent direct from God.”