“No Ministry can go on long on that far niente principle, and no minister who accedes to it will remain long in any ministry.” Sir Timothy in saying this might be alluding to the Duke, or the reference might be to Sir Orlando himself. “Of course, I’m not in the Cabinet, and am not entitled to say a word; but I think that if I were in the Cabinet, and if I were anxious—which I confess I’m not—for a continuation of the present state of things, I should endeavour to obtain from the Duke some idea of his policy for the next Session.” Sir Orlando was a man of certain parts. He could speak volubly—and yet slowly—so that reporters and others could hear him. He was patient, both in the House and in his office, and had the great gift of doing what he was told by men who understood things better than he did himself. He never went very far astray in his official business, because he always obeyed the clerks and followed precedents. He had been a useful man—and would still have remained so had he not been lifted a little too high. Had he been only one in the ruck on the Treasury Bench he would have been useful to the end; but special honour and special place had been assigned to him, and therefore he desired still bigger things. The Duke’s mediocrity of talent and of energy and of general governing power had been so often mentioned of late in Sir Orlando’s hearing, that Sir Orlando had gradually come to think that he was the Duke’s equal in the Cabinet, and that perhaps it behoved him to lead the Duke. At the commencement of their joint operations he had held the Duke in some awe, and perhaps something of that feeling in reference to the Duke personally still restrained him. The Dukes of Omnium had always been big people. But still it might be his duty to say a word to the Duke. Sir Orlando assured himself that if ever convinced of the propriety of doing so, he could say a word even to the Duke of Omnium. “I am confident that we should not go on quite as we are at present,” said Sir Timothy as he closed the conversation.
“Where did they pick him up?” said the Major to the Captain, pointing with his head to Ferdinand Lopez, who was shooting with Angelica Thrift and Mr. Boffin and one of the Duke’s private secretaries.
“The Duchess found him somewhere. He’s one of those fabulously rich fellows out of the City who make a hundred thousand pounds at a blow. They say his people were grandees of Spain.”
“Does anybody know him?” asked the Major.
“Everybody soon will know him,” answered the Captain. “I think I heard that he’s going to stand for some place in the Duke’s interest. He don’t look the sort of fellow I like; but he’s got money and he comes here, and he’s good looking—and therefore he’ll be a success.” In answer to this the Major only grunted. The Major was a year or two older than the Captain, and therefore less willing even than his friend to admit the claims of newcomers to social honours.
Just at this moment the Duchess walked across the ground up to the shooters, accompanied by Mrs. Finn and Lady Chiltern. She had not been seen in the gardens before that day, and of course a little concourse was made round her. The Major and the Captain, who had been driven away by the success of Ferdinand Lopez, returned with their sweetest smiles. Mr. Boffin put down his treatise on the nature of Franchises, which he was studying in order that he might lead an opposition against the Ministry next Session, and even Sir Timothy Beeswax, who had done his work with Sir Orlando, joined the throng.
“Now I do hope,” said the Duchess, “that you are all shooting by the new code. That is, and is to be, the Gatherum Archery Code, and I shall break my heart if anybody rebels.”
“There are one or two men,” said Major Pountney very gravely, “who won’t take the trouble to understand it.”
“Mr. Lopez,” said the Duchess, pointing with her finger at our friend, “are you that rebel?”
“I fear I did suggest—” began Mr. Lopez.
“I will have no suggestions—nothing but obedience. Here are Sir Timothy Beeswax and Mr. Boffin, and Sir Orlando Drought is not far off; and here is Mr. Rattler, than whom no authority on such a subject can be better. Ask them whether in other matters suggestions are wanted.”
“Of course not,” said Major Pountney.
“Now, Mr. Lopez, will you or will you not be guided by a strict and close interpretation of the Gatherum Code? Because, if not, I’m afraid we shall feel constrained to accept your resignation.”
“I won’t resign, and I will obey,” said Lopez.
“A good ministerial reply,” said the Duchess. “I don’t doubt but that in time you’ll ascend to high office and become a pillar of the Gatherum constitution. How does he shoot, Miss Thrift?”
“He will shoot very well indeed, Duchess, if he goes on and practises,” said Angelica, whose life for the last seven years had been devoted to archery. Major Pountney retired far away into the park, a full quarter of a mile off, and smoked a cigar under a tree. Was it for this that he had absolutely given up a month to drawing out this code of rules, going backwards and forwards two or three times to the printers in his desire to carry out the Duchess’s wishes? “Women are so d⸺ ungrateful!” he said aloud in his solitude, as he turned himself on the hard ground. “And some men are so d⸺ lucky!” This fellow, Lopez, had absolutely been allowed to make a good score off his own intractable
