Grasp of the hand. "Downed the dirty dogs, eh?" Punch in the ribs.
The blushing victor had much of this kind of thing to endure in the first few days of his return to town. He was in no sense a cynic, for his eyes looked steadily towards the future, but even he was aware that the most rejoicing voices were those which would have been still louder had the cat jumped the other way.
Watching the cat jump, that art, too, was ever important. Truly wonderful was the effect now wrought upon the Mother of Parliaments. The Slippery One had brought off the biggest thing since the Famous Lie in the middle of that prehistoric period of the Great War which had founded the fortune of more than one grave and reverend parliamentarian and had reduced the country to the verge of ruin. This new stroke of daring had been so cunningly timed that its success was said to be a masterpiece of strategy, a triumph of tactical insight by those who would have been the first to brand its failure, from whatever cause, as a lapse into premature senility on the part of a mind outwardly strong and vigorous.
Mr. Wilberforce Williams shared to the full in the congratulations showered upon his brilliant lieutenant. Some of the more volatile friends of the moment tried to draw the prime minister as to the date of the General Election which now was going to be a matter of such vital concern to the world at large. But Mr. Wilberforce Williams lay low and said Nuffin. He knew
