Something had
wiped his lips of speech, as a mother wipes the milky lips of her child, and
he was afraid--horribly afraid.
So the Club had rest when he returned; and if ever you come across Aurelian
McGoggin laying down the law on things Human--he doesn't seem to know as much
as he used to about things Divine--put your forefinger on your lip for a
moment, and see what happens.
Don't blame me if he throws a glass at your head!
A GERM DESTROYER.
Pleasant it is for the Little Tin Gods,
When great Jove nods;
But Little Tin Gods make their little mistakes
In missing the hour when great Jove wakes.
As a general rule, it is inexpedient to meddle with questions of State in a
land where men are highly paid to work them out for you.
This tale is a justifiable exception.
Once in every five years, as you know, we indent for a new Viceroy; and each
Viceroy imports, with the rest of his baggage, a Private Secretary, who may or
may not be the real Viceroy, just as Fate ordains. Fate looks after the Indian
Empire because it is so big and so helpless.
There was a Viceroy once, who brought out with him a turbulent Private
Secretary--a hard man with a soft manner and a morbid passion for work. This
Secretary was called Wonder--John Fennil Wonder.
Pages:
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653