r 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. Every one was listening now, for Wagstaffe
as a politician usually had something original to say.

"Well," proceeded Wagstaffe, "they saw that the great thing to do
was to prevent the Opposition from making an impression on the
country--from being taken too seriously, in fact. So what did they
do? They said: 'Let's arrange for a _comic_ Opposition--an Opposition
_pour rire_, you know. They will make the country either laugh or cry.
Anyhow, the country will be much too busy deciding which to do to have
any time to worry about _us_; so we shall have a splendid chance to
get on with the War.' So they sent down the Strand--that's where the
Variety agents foregather, I believe--what you call _entrepreneurs_,
Achille--and booked this troupe, complete, for the run of the War.
They did the thing in style; spared no expense; and got a comic
newspaper proprietor to write the troupe up, and themselves down.
The scheme worked beautifully--what you would call a _succes fou_,
Achille."

"I am desolated, my good Ouagstaffe," observed Petitpois after a
pregnant silence; "but I cannot believe all you say."

"I _may_ be wrong," admitted Wagstaffe handsomely, "but that's my
reading of the situation. At any rate, Achille, you will admit that my
theory squares with the known facts of the case."

Petitpois bowed politely.

"Perhaps it is I who am wrong, my dear Ouagger. There is such