very advantage is with you," said Upton, with all the
winning grace of his incomparable manner; "and I must now bethink me
how I can manage to prolong my stay here." And with this he fell into
a musing fit, letting drop occasionally some stray word or two, to mark
the current of his thoughts: "The Duke of Headwater's on the thirteenth;
Ardroath Castle the Tuesday after; More-hampton for the Derby day. These
easily disposed of. Prince Boratinsky, about that Warsaw affair, must be
attended to; a letter, yes, a letter, will keep that question open. Lady
Grencliffe _is_ a difficulty; if I plead illness, she 'll say I 'm not
strong enough to go to Russia. I 'll think it over." And with this he
rested his head on his hands, and sank into profound reflection.
"Yes, Doctor," said he, at length, as though summing up his secret
calculations, "health is the first requisite. If you can but restore me,
you will be--I am above the mere personal consideration--you will be
the means of conferring an important service on the King's Government. A
variety of questions, some of them deep and intricate, are now pending,
of which I alone understand the secret meaning. A new hand would
infallibly spoil the game; and yet, in my present condition, how could
I hear the fatigues of long interviews, ministerial deliberations,
incessant note-writing, and evasive conversations?"

"Utterly unpossible!" exclaimed the doctor.

"As you observe, it is utterly impossible," rejoined Sir Horace, with
one of his own dubious smiles; and then, in a manner more natural,
resumed: "We public men have the sad necessity of concealing the
sufferings on which others trade for sympathy. We must never confess
to an ache or a pain, lest it be rumored that we are unequal to the
fatigues of office; and so is it that we are condemned to run the race
with broken health and shattered frame, alleging all the while that no
exertion is too much, no effort too great for us."

"And maybe, after all, it's that very struggle that makes you more than
common men," said Billy. "There's a kind of irritability that keeps
the brain at stretch, and renders it equal to higher efforts than ever
accompany good everyday health. Dyspepsia is the soul of a prose-writer,
and a slight ossification of the aortic valves is a great help to the
imagination."

"Do you really say so?" asked Sir Horace, with all the implicit
confidence with which he accepted any marvel that had its origin in
medicin