“The place, Mr. Stanbury, will not signify, I think.”
“Not in the least—if you don’t mind it. I got your letter, you know, Sir Marmaduke.”
“And I have had your reply. I have come to you because you have expressed a wish for an interview;—but I do not see that it will do any good.”
“You are very kind for coming, indeed, Sir Marmaduke;—very kind. I thought I might explain something to you about my income.”
“Can you tell me that you have any permanent income?”
“It goes on regularly from month to month;”—Sir Marmaduke did not feel the slightest respect for an income that was paid monthly. According to his ideas, a gentleman’s income should be paid quarterly, or perhaps half-yearly. According to his view, a monthly salary was only one degree better than weekly wages;—“and I suppose that is permanence,” said Hugh Stanbury.
“I cannot say that I so regard it.”
“A barrister gets his, you know, very irregularly. There is no saying when he may have it.”
“But a barrister’s profession is recognised as a profession among gentlemen, Mr. Stanbury.”
“And is not ours recognised? Which of us, barristers or men of literature, have the most effect on the world at large? Who is most thought of in London, Sir Marmaduke—the Lord Chancellor or the Editor of the Jupiter?”
“The Lord Chancellor a great deal,” said Sir Marmaduke, quite dismayed by the audacity of the question.
“By no means, Sir Marmaduke,” said Stanbury, throwing out his hand before him so as to give the energy of action to his words. “He has the higher rank. I will admit that.”
“I should think so,” said Sir Marmaduke.
“And the larger income.”
“Very much larger, I should say,” said Sir Marmaduke, with a smile.
“And he wears a wig.”
“Yes;—he wears a wig,” said Sir Marmaduke, hardly knowing in what spirit to accept this assertion.
“And nobody cares one brass button for him or his opinions,” said Stanbury, bringing down his hand heavily on the little table for the sake of emphasis.
“What, sir?”
“If you’ll think of it, it is so.”
“Nobody cares for the Lord Chancellor!” It certainly is the fact that gentlemen living in the Mandarin Islands do think more of the Lord Chancellor, and the Lord Mayor, and the Lord-Lieutenant, and the Lord Chamberlain, than they whose spheres of life bring them into closer contact with those august functionaries. “I presume, Mr. Stanbury, that a connection with a penny newspaper makes such opinions as these almost a necessity.”
“Quite a necessity, Sir Marmaduke. No man can hold his own in print, nowadays, unless he can see the difference between tinsel and gold.”
“And the Lord Chancellor, of course, is tinsel.”
“I do not say so. He may be a great lawyer—and very useful. But his lordship, and his wig, and his woolsack, are tinsel in comparison with the real power possessed by the editor of a leading newspaper. If the Lord Chancellor were to go to bed for a month, would he be much missed?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’m not in the secrets of the Cabinet. I should think he would.”
“About as much as my grandmother;—but if the Editor of the Jupiter were to be taken ill, it would work quite a commotion. For myself I should be glad—on public grounds—because I don’t like his mode of business. But it would have an effect—because he is a leading man.”
“I don’t see what all this leads to, Mr. Stanbury.”
“Only to this—that we who write for the press think that our calling is recognised, and must be recognised as a profession. Talk of permanence, Sir Marmaduke, are not the newspapers permanent? Do not they come out regularly every day—and more of them, and still more of them, are always coming out? You do not expect a collapse among them.”
“There will be plenty of newspapers, I do not doubt;—more than plenty, perhaps.”
“Somebody must write them—and the writers will be paid.”
“Anybody could write the most of them, I should say.”
“I wish you would try, Sir Marmaduke. Just try your hand at a leading article tonight, and read it yourself tomorrow morning.”
“I’ve a great deal too much to do, Mr. Stanbury.”
“Just so. You have, no doubt, the affairs of your Government to look to. We are all so apt to ignore the work of our neighbours! It seems to me that I could go over and govern the Mandarins without the slightest trouble in the world. But no doubt I am mistaken;—just as you are about writing for the newspapers.”
“I do not know,” said Sir Marmaduke, rising from his chair with dignity, “that I called here to discuss such matters as these. As it happens, you, Mr. Stanbury, are not the Governor of the Mandarins, and I have not the honour to write for the columns of the penny newspaper with which you are associated. It is therefore useless to discuss what either of us might do in the position held by the other.”
“Altogether useless, Sir Marmaduke—except just for the fun of the thing.”
“I do not see the fun, Mr. Stanbury. I came here, at your request, to hear what you might have to urge against the decision which I expressed to you in reference to my daughter. As it seems that you have nothing to urge, I will not take up your time further.”
“But I have a great deal to urge, and have urged a great deal.”
“Have you, indeed?”
“You have complained that my work is not permanent. I have shown that it
