“So I feared. But one day we will have one. Listen. You can tell Sir Samson that. When there is a tube railway he shall have a private station in the Legation compound. Now listen; I have had a letter from the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. They want to send out a Commission to investigate Wanda methods of hunting. Is it cruel to spear lions, do you think?”
“No.”
“No. However, here is the letter. From Dame Mildred Porch. Do you know her?”
“I’ve heard of her. An intolerable old gas-bag.”
“What is gas-bag? An orator?”
“Yes in a way.”
“Well, she is returning from South Africa and wishes to spend a week here. I will say yes?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“I will say yes… And another thing. I have been reading in my papers about something very modern called birth control. What is it?”
Basil explained.
“I must have a lot of that. You will see to it. Perhaps it is not a matter for an ordnance, what do you think? We must popularise it by propagandaeducate the people in sterility. We might have a little pageant in its honour…”
Sir Samson accepted the rebuff to his plans with characteristic calm. “Well, well, I don’t suppose young Seth will keep his job long. There’s bound to be another revolution soon. The boy’s head over heels in debt they tell me. I daresay the next government, whoever they are, will be able to afford something. And anyway, you may laugh at me, Prudence, but I think it’s uncommonly decent of the young fellow to name that avenue after me. I’ve al-ways liked him. You never know. Debra-Dowa may become a big city one day. I like to think of all the black johnnies in a hundred years’ time driving up and down in their motor cars and going to the shops and saying, ‘Number a hundred Samson Courteney’ and wondering who I was. Like, like…”
“Like the Avenue Victor Hugo, Envoy.”
“Exactly, or St. James’s Square.”
But the question of the boots was less easily settied.
On the afternoon of the day when the new ordnance was issued, Basil and Mr. Youkoumian were in conference. A major difficulty had arisen with regard to the plans for the new guest house at the Palace. The Emperor had been captivated by some photographs he had discovered in a German architectural magazine and had decided to have the new building constructed of steel and vita-glass. Basil had spent half the morning in a vain attempt to per-suade the royal mind that this was not a style at all suitable to his tropical climate and he was now at work with his financial secretary on a memorandum of the prohibitive extravagance of the new plans, when the door was pushed noisily open and the Duke of Ukaka strode into the room.
“Clear out, Youkoumian,” he said. “I want to talk to your boss.”
“O.K., General. Ill op off. No offence.’
“Nonsense. Mr. Youkoumian is financial secretary of the Ministry. I should like him to be present at our interview.”
“What me, Mr. Seal? I got nothing to say to the General.”
“I wish you to stay.”
“Quick,” said the Duke, making a menacing motion towards him.
“Very sorry, gentlemen,” said Mr. Youkoumian and shot through the door into his own office.
First trick to Connolly.
“I notice even that little dago has the sense to take off his boots.”
Second trick to Connolly.
But in the subsequent interview Basil held his own. The General began: “Sorry to have to sling that fellow out. Can’t stand his smell. Now let’s talk. What’s all this infernal nonsense about boots?”
“His Majesty’s ordnance seemed perfectly explicit to me.”
“His Majesty’s trousers. For the Lord’s sake come off the high horse, old boy, and listen to me. I don’t give a hoot in hell about your modernisation. It’s none of my business. You can set every damn coon in the place doing cross-word puzzles for all I care.
But I’m not going to have any monkeying about with my men. You’ll lame the whole army in a day if you try to make ‘em wear boots. Now look here, there’s no reason why we should scrap over this. I’ve been in the country long enough to see through Youkoumian’s game. Selling junk to the government has been the staple industry of Debra-Dowa as long as I can remember it. I’d as soon you got the boodle as any one else. Listen. If I tip the wink to the peo-ple on the line I can have the whole consignment of boots carried off by Sakuyu. You’ll get compensation, the ordnance will be forgotten and no one will be any the worse off. What do you say? Is it a deal?”
For an appreciable time Basil hesitated in a decision of greater importance than either of them realised. The General sat jauntily on the edge of the table bending his rising cane over his knee; his expression was one of cordiality and of persuasive good sense. Basil hesitated. Was it some atavistic sense of a caste, an instinct of superiority, that held him aloof? Or was it vexed megalomania because Mr. Youkoumian had trotted so obediently from the room in his stockinged feet?
“You should have made your representations be-fore,” he said. “The tone of your first note made discussion impossible. The boots will be issued to the war department next week.”
“Bloody young fool,” said Connolly and took his leave.
