ENGLAND

(_A political novel of the Days that Were_)

_III.--The Split in the Cabinet; or, The Fate of England._

CHAPTER I

"The fate of England hangs upon it," murmured Sir John Elphinspoon, as
he sank wearily into an armchair. For a moment, as he said "England,"
the baronet's eye glistened and his ears lifted as if in defiance, but
as soon as he stopped saying it his eye lost its brilliance and his ears
dropped wearily at the sides of his head.

Lady Elphinspoon looked at her husband anxiously. She could not conceal
from herself that his face, as he sank into his chair, seemed somehow
ten years older than it had been ten years ago.

"You are home early, John?" she queried.

"The House rose early, my dear," said the baronet.

"For the All England Ping-Pong match?"

"No, for the Dog Show. The Prime Minister felt that the Cabinet ought to
attend. He said that their presence there would help to bind the
colonies to us. I understand also that he has a pup in the show himself.
He took the Cabinet with him."

"And why not you?" asked Lady Elphinspoon.

"You forget, my dear," said the baronet, "as Foreign Secretary my
presence at a Dog Show might be offensive to the Shah of Persia. Had it
been a Cat Show----"

The baronet paused and shook his head in deep gloom.

"John," said his wife, "I feel that there is something more. Did
anything happen at the House?"

Sir John nodded.

"A bad business," he said. "The Wazuchistan Boundary Bill was read this
afternoon for the third time."

No woman in England, so it was generally said, had a keener political
insight than Lady Elphinspoon.

"The third time," she repeated thoughtfully, "and how many more will it
have to go?"

Sir John turned his head aside and groaned.

"You are faint," exclaimed Lady Elphinspoon, "let me ring for tea."

The baronet shook his head.

"An egg, John--let me beat you up an egg."

"Yes, yes," murmured Sir John, still abstracted, "beat it, yes, do beat
it."

Lady Elphinspoon, in spite of her elevated position as the wife of the
Foreign Secretary of Great Britain, held it not beneath her to perform
for her husband the plainest household service. She rang for an egg. The
butler broke it for her into a tall goblet filled with old sherry, and
the noble lady, with her own hands, beat the stuff out of it. For the
veteran politician, whose official duties rarely allowed him to eat, an
egg was a sovereign remedy. Taken eithe