Then came the storm. Sir EDWARD C. threw up his job and let in me,
before I scarce could laugh, "He, he!" to be His Majesty's A.-G. That
wasn't bad, I think, for me--a mild young man of forty-three!
Next came "the quiet life" for me. I held my tongue, but drew my fee
and eke my A.-G. salary. Not e'en the great calamity that overtook
A.'s Ministry and raised the wizard, D.L.G., to offices of high degree
disturbed my sweet serenity. Nor did I jib when Sir R.B. FINLAY took
on unblushingly the job that seemed cut out for me. Unwilling _he_ his
weird to dree! _I_ whispered, "Mum's the word for me!"
Now, after waiting patiently, as fits a man of my degree, the Woolsack
cries aloud for me, and soft and soothing it will be to my whole frame
and dignity. And unto those who wish from me to know what will the
ending be of my august biography, I answer in a minor key and classic
language, "Wait and see!"
* * * * *