There might be other good men, but the known, honored and trusted man
among men was Wressley of the Foreign Office. We had a Viceroy in those days
who knew exactly when to "gentle" a fractious big man and to hearten up a
collar-galled little one, and so keep all his team level. He conveyed to
Wressley the impression which I have just set down; and even tough men are apt
to be disorganized by a Viceroy's praise. There was a case once--but that is
another story.
All India knew Wressley's name and office--it was in Thacker and Spink's
Directory--but who he was personally, or what he did, or what his special
merits were, not fifty men knew or cared. His work filled all his time, and he
found no leisure to cultivate acquaintances beyond those of dead Rajput chiefs
with Ahir blots in their 'scutcheons. Wressley would have made a very good
Clerk in the Herald's College had he not been a Bengal Civilian.
Upon a day, between office and office, great trouble came to Wressley--
overwhelmed him, knocked him down, and left him gasping as though he had been a
little school-boy. Without reason, against prudence, and at a moment's notice,
he fell in love with a frivolous, golden-haired girl who used to tear about
Simla Mall on a high, rough waler, with a blue velvet jockey-cap crammed over
her eyes.
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