To-day was Saturday. The long quiescent Sunday must be endured--and
then he would stand in the presence of supreme authority.
By the end of that Sunday his enervation was complete. The want of
exercise, the want of fresh air, the want of Mavis, had been steadily
weakening him, and now his anticipations as to the morrow produced a
feverish excitement.
Throughout the day he rehearsed his speeches. He was still
assuming--had always taken for granted--that the personage addressed
would be the Postmaster-General, and he was sure of the correct mode
of address. "Your Grace, I desire to respectfully state my
position."... That was the start all right; but how did it go on?
Again and again, before recovering the hang of it, he was confronted
with a blank wall of forgetfulness.
And there was the bold flight that he had determined on for wind-up.
This had come as an inspiration, down there at Rodchurch over a
fortnight ago, and had been cherished ever since. "Your Grace, taking
the liberty under this head of speaking as man to man, I ask: If you
had been situated as I was, wouldn't you have done as I done?" That
was to be the wind-up, and it had rung in his mind like a trumpet
call, bold yet irresistible--"Duke you may be, but if also a man, act
as a man, and see fair play.
Pages:
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66