"Not a bit, old son! That is where you fail to grasp the subtleties of
British statesmanship. I tell you there are no flies on our Cabinet!"
"Flies?"
"Yes: _mouches_, you know. The agility of our Cabinet Ministers is
such that these little insects find it impossible to alight upon
them."
"Your Ministers are athletes--yes," agreed Achille comprehendingly.
"But the--"
"Only intellectually. What I mean is that they are a very downy
collection of old gentlemen--"
Achille, murmuring something hazy about "Downing Street," nodded his
head.
"--And when they came into power, they knew as well as anything that
after three weeks or so the country would begin to grouse--"
"Grouse? A sporting bird?" interpolated Achille.
"Exactly. They knew that the country would soon start giving them the
bird--"
"What bird? The grouse?"
"Oh, dry up, Wagger!" interposed Blaikie. "He means, Petitpois, that
the Government, knowing that the electorate would begin to grow
impatient if the War did not immediately take a favourable turn--"
Achille smiled.
"I see now," he said. "Proceed, Ouagstaffe, my old!"
"In other words," continued the officer so addressed, "the Government
decided that if they gave the Opposition half a chance to get
together, and find leaders, and consolidate their new trenches, they
might turn them out."
"Bien," assented Achille.
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