Not far from Ullweather and Bradwyn, Randall Hatchett, the youngest member of the Executive, lounged against a pillar. Proud of a distinction which he dared not comprehend (for a commercial shrewdness made him suspect that he owed his position less to merit than to the subtle promises conveyed by a weak chin), this distinguished person tried to look the secrets which his colleagues had never permitted him to learn. In moody weariness he would sometimes condescend to the company of his subordinates on the General Committee and, while listening to their irresponsible prattle, he would seem to forget the onerous public interests the absolute neglect of which was his chief duty at the Council board.
Near this gentleman were two others, Hartley Penborough, the editor of _The Sentinel_, and the Hon. Charles Aumerle, whose guest he was.
As Lord Reckage entered and showed some intention of joining in the conversation, they appeared by a silent and common consent to ignore his approach. He turned to the hall porter, gave him some instructions in a low voice and passed on, livid with annoyance, to the library beyond.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Aumerle, "that was Reckage."
"Why didn't you speak to him?" asked Aumerle.
"Because," said Bradwyn, "our good Hatchett is not so sure of himself that he can afford to be civil even to a President out of fashion!"
No one smiled except Hatchett himself, because each one felt it was unwise to encourage Bradwyn's peculiar humour.
"I would have spoken to Reckage," said Ullweather, with a superior air, "but I have never felt the same toward him since he threw over Orange at the time of his election."
"And several other old friends more recently!" observed the injudicious Bradwyn.
"I don't speak of myself," said Ullweather, "but Orange was unusually devoted to the fellow; and all I wish to make clear is this, that when Reckage ever said or did the right thing in times past, the credit was solely due to Orange. He weeded prophecy from his speeches, and rudeness from his jokes. Great services, I assure you!"
"True," said Randall Hatchett, "for there is nothing more fatal to a political career than brilliant impromptus and spirited orations. A statesman's words, like butcher's meat, should be well weighed."