and your breath in defending
a crew of political brigands and placemen, and a king who knows not the
meaning of the word gratitude, and who has no use for a man of ability?
You have honoured me with your friendship, Charles Fox, and I may take
the liberty to add that you seem to love power more than spoils. You
have originality. You are honest enough to think and act upon your own
impulses. And pardon me if I say you have very little chance on that
side of the house where you have put yourself."

"You seem to have picked up a trifle since you came into England," he
said. "A damned shrewd estimate, I'll be sworn. And for a colonial! But,
as for power," he added a little doggedly, "I have it in plenty, and
the kind I like. The King and North hate and fear me already more than
Wilkes."

"And with more cause," I replied warmly. "His Majesty perhaps knows
that you understand him better, and foresees the time when a man of your
character will give him cause to fear indeed."

He did not answer that, but called for a reckoning; and taking my arm
again, we walked out past the sleeping houses.

"Have you ever thought much of the men we have in the colonies?" I
asked.

"No," he replied; "Chatham stands for 'em, and I hate Chatham on my
father's account. That is reason enough for me."

"You should come back to America with me," I said. "And when you had
rested awhile at Carvel Hall, I would ride with you through the length
of the provinces from Massachusetts to North Carolina. You will see
little besides hard-working, self-respecting Englishmen, loyal to a king
who deserves loyalty as little as Louis of France. But with their eyes
open, and despite the course he has taken. They are men whose measure of
resolution is not guessed at."

He was silent again until we had got into Piccadilly and opposite his
lodgings.

"Are they all like you?" he demanded.

"Who?" said I. For I had forgotten my words.

"The Americans."

"The greater part feel as I do."

"I suppose you are for bed," he remarked abruptly.

"The night is not yet begun," I answered, repeating his favourite words,
and pointing at the glint of the sun on the windows.

"What do you say to a drive behind those chestnuts of mine, for a breath
of air? I have just got my new cabriolet Selwyn ordered in Paris."

Soon we were rattling over the stones in Piccadilly, wrapped in
greatcoats, for the morning wind was cold. We saw the Earl of March and
Ruglen getting ou