“Certainly. I will come this moment.” Then there was not a word spoken till the two men were in the street together. “Of course I am a little anxious,” said Mr. Monk. “Have you anything to tell me before we get there?”
“You of course must return to office, Mr. Monk.”
“With your Grace—I certainly will do so.”
“And without, if there be the need. They who are wanted should be forthcoming. But perhaps you will let me postpone what I have to say till we see the Duke. What a charming morning;—is it not? How sweet it would be down in the country.” March had gone out like a lamb, and even in London the early April days were sweet—to be followed, no doubt, by the usual nipping inclemency of May. “I never can get over the feeling,” continued the Duke, “that Parliament should sit for the six winter months, instead of in summer. If we met on the first of October, how glorious it would be to get away for the early spring!”
“Nothing less strong than grouse could break up Parliament,” said Mr. Monk; “and then what would the pheasants and the foxes say?”
“It is giving up almost too much to our amusements. I used to think that I should like to move for a return of the number of hunting and shooting gentlemen in both Houses. I believe it would be a small minority.”
“But their sons shoot, and their daughters hunt, and all their hangers-on would be against it.”
“Custom is against us, Mr. Monk; that is it. Here we are. I hope my friend will not be out, looking up young Lords of the Treasury.” The Duke of St. Bungay was not in search of cadets for the Government, but was at this very moment closeted with Mr. Gresham, and Mr. Gresham’s especial friend Lord Cantrip. He had been at this work so long and so constantly that his very servants had their ministerial-crisis manners and felt and enjoyed the importance of the occasion. The two newcomers were soon allowed to enter the august conclave, and the five great senators greeted each other cordially. “I hope we have not come inopportunely,” said the Duke of Omnium. Mr. Gresham assured him almost with hilarity that nothing could be less inopportune;—and then the Duke was sure that Mr. Gresham was to be the new Prime Minister, whoever might join him or whoever might refuse to do so. “I told my friend here,” continued our Duke, laying his hand upon the old man’s arm, “that I would give him his answer to a proposition he made me within twenty-four hours. But I find that I can do so without that delay.”
“I trust your Grace’s answer may be favourable to us,” said Mr. Gresham—who indeed did not doubt much that it would be so, seeing that Mr. Monk had accompanied him.
“I do not think that it will be unfavourable, though I cannot do as my friend has proposed.”
“Any practicable arrangement—” began Mr. Gresham, with a frown, however, on his brow.
“The most practicable arrangement, I am sure, will be for you to form your Government without hampering yourself with a beaten predecessor.”
“Not beaten,” said Lord Cantrip.
“Certainly not,” said the other Duke.
“It is because of your success that I ask your services,” said Mr. Gresham.
“I have none to give—none that I cannot better bestow out of office than in. I must ask you, gentlemen, to believe that I am quite fixed. Coming here with my friend Mr. Monk, I did not state my purpose to him; but I begged him to accompany me, fearing lest in my absence he should feel it incumbent on himself to sail in the same boat with his late colleague.”
“I should prefer to do so,” said Mr. Monk.
“Of course it is not for me to say what may be Mr. Gresham’s ideas; but as my friend here suggested to me that, were I to return to office, Mr. Monk would do so also, I cannot be wrong in surmising that his services are desired.” Mr. Gresham bowed assent. “I shall therefore take the liberty of telling Mr. Monk that I think he is bound to give his aid in the present emergency. Were I as happily placed as he is in being the possessor of a seat in the House of Commons, I too should hope that I might do something.”
The four gentlemen, with eager pressure, begged the Duke to reconsider his decision. He could take this office and do nothing in it—there being, as we all know, offices the holders of which are not called upon for work—or he could take that place which would require him to labour like a galley slave. Would he be Privy Seal? Would he undertake the India Board? But the Duke of Omnium was at last resolute. Of this administration he would not at any rate be a member. Whether Caesar might or might not at some future time condescend to command a legion, he could not do so when the purple had been but that moment stripped from his shoulders. He soon afterwards left the house with a repeated request to Mr. Monk that he would not follow his late chief’s example.
“I regret it greatly,” said Mr. Gresham when he was gone.
“There is no man,” said Lord Cantrip, “whom all who know him more thoroughly respect.”
“He has been worried,” said the old Duke, “and must take time to recover himself. He has but one fault—he is a little too conscientious, a little too scrupulous.” Mr. Monk, of course, did join them, making one or two stipulations as he did so. He required that his friend Phineas Finn should be included in the Government. Mr. Gresham yielded,
