"Ministers of Grace" Page #3

"Ministers of Grace" is a collection of short stories by Hector Hugh Munro, better known by his pen name, Saki. Published in 1914, the book features a series of witty and often darkly humorous tales that showcase Saki's sharp satire and keen observations of Edwardian society. The stories explore themes of social norms, human folly, and the absurdities of life, often with a twist ending. Saki's distinctive style combines playful language with biting commentary, making "Ministers of Grace" a compelling read for fans of clever storytelling and acerbic wit.

• Short story

								

dissembled in a bowl of bread and milk, would be an experience that
might upset the equanimity of the most placidly disposed mortal.  An
equally vehement outcry arose from the regular subscribers of the
ANGLIAN REVIEW who protested against being served from time to time
with literary fare which no young person of sixteen could possibly want
to devour in secret.  To take infinite precautions, they complained,
against the juvenile perusal of such eminently innocuous literature was
like reading the Riot Act on an uninhabited island.  Both reviews
suffered a serious falling-off in circulation and influence.  Peace
hath its devastations as well as war.

The wives of noted public men formed another element of discomfiture
which the young Duke had almost entirely left out of his calculations.
It is sufficiently embarrassing to keep abreast of the possible
wobblings and veerings-round of a human husband, who, from the strength
or weakness of his personal character, may leap over or slip through
the barriers which divide the parties; for this reason a merciful
politician usually marries late in life, when he has definitely made up
his mind on which side he wishes his wife to be socially valuable.  But
these trials were as nothing compared to the bewilderment caused by the
Angel-husbands who seemed in some cases to have revolutionized their
outlook on life in the interval between breakfast and dinner, without
premonition or preparation of any kind, and apparently without
realizing the least need for subsequent explanation.  The temporary
peace which brooded over the Parliamentary situation was by no means
reproduced in the home circles of the leading statesmen and
politicians.  It had been frequently and extensively remarked of Mrs.
Exe that she would try the patience of an angel; now the tables were
reversed, and she unwittingly had an opportunity for discovering that
the capacity for exasperating behaviour was not all on one side.

And then, with the introduction of the Navy Estimates, Parliamentary
peace suddenly dissolved.  It was the old quarrel between Ministers and
the Opposition as to the adequacy or the reverse of the Government's
naval programme.  The Angel-Quinston and the Angel-Hugo-Sizzle
contrived to keep the debates free from personalities and pinpricks,
but an enormous sensation was created when the elegant lackadaisical
Halfan Halfour threatened to bring up fifty thousand stalwarts to wreck
the House if the Estimates were not forthwith revised on a Two-Power
basis.  It was a memorable scene when he rose in his place, in response
to the scandalized shouts of his opponents, and thundered forth,
"Gentlemen, I glory in the name of Apache."

Belturbet, who had made several fruitless attempts to ring up his young
friend since the fateful morning in St. James's Park, ran him to earth
one afternoon at his club, smooth and spruce and unruffled as ever.

"Tell me, what on earth have you turned Cocksley Coxon into?" Belturbet
asked anxiously, mentioning the name of one of the pillars of
unorthodoxy in the Anglican Church.  "I don't fancy he BELIEVES in
angels, and if he finds an angel preaching orthodox sermons from his
pulpit while he's been turned into a fox-terrier, he'll develop rabies
in less than no time."

"I rather think it was a fox-terrier," said the Duke lazily.

Belturbet groaned heavily, and sank into a chair.

"Look here, Eugène," he whispered hoarsely, having first looked well
round to see that no one was within hearing range, "you've got to stop
it.  Consols are jumping up and down like bronchos, and that speech of
Halfour's in the House last night has simply startled everybody out of
their wits.  And then on the top of it, Thistlebery--"

"What has he been saying?" asked the Duke quickly.

"Nothing.  That's just what's so disturbing.  Every one thought it was
simply inevitable that he should come out with a great epoch-making
speech at this juncture, and I've just seen on the tape that he has
refused to address any meetings at present, giving as a reason his
opinion that something more than mere speech-making was wanted."

The young Duke said nothing, but his eyes shone with quiet exultation.

"It's so unlike Thistlebery," continued Belturbet; "at least," he said
suspiciously, "it's unlike the REAL Thistlebery--"

"The real Thistlebery is flying about somewhere as a
vocally-industrious lapwing," said the Duke calmly; "I expect great
things of the Angel-Thistlebery," he added.

At this moment there was a magnetic stampede of members towards the
lobby, where the tape-machines were ticking out some news of more than
ordinary import.

"COUP D'ÉTAT in the North.  Thistlebery seizes Edinburgh Castle.
Threatens civil war unless Government expands naval programme."

In the babel which ensued Belturbet lost sight of his young friend.
For the best part of the afternoon he searched one likely haunt after
another, spurred on by the sensational posters which the evening papers
were displaying broadcast over the West End. "General Baden-Baden
mobilizes Boy-Scouts.  Another COUP D'ÉTAT feared.  Is Windsor Castle
safe?"  This was one of the earlier posters, and was followed by one of
even more sinister purport: "Will the Test-match have to be postponed?"
It was this disquietening question which brought home the real
seriousness of the situation to the London public, and made people
wonder whether one might not pay too high a price for the advantages of
party government.  Belturbet, questing round in the hope of finding the
originator of the trouble, with a vague idea of being able to induce
him to restore matters to their normal human footing, came across an
elderly club acquaintance who dabbled extensively in some of the more
sensitive market securities.  He was pale with indignation, and his
pallor deepened as a breathless newsboy dashed past with a poster
inscribed: "Premier's constituency harried by moss-troopers.  Halfour
sends encouraging telegram to rioters.  Letchworth Garden City
threatens reprisals.  Foreigners taking refuge in Embassies and
National Liberal Club."

"This is devils' work!" he said angrily.

Belturbet knew otherwise.

At the bottom of St. James's Street a newspaper motor-cart, which had
just come rapidly along Pall Mall, was surrounded by a knot of eagerly
talking people, and for the first time that afternoon Belturbet heard
expressions of relief and congratulation.

It displayed a placard with the welcome announcement: "Crisis ended.
Government gives way.  Important expansion of naval programme."

There seemed to be no immediate necessity for pursuing the quest of the
errant Duke, and Belturbet turned to make his way homeward through St.
James's Park.  His mind, attuned to the alarums and excursions of the
afternoon, became dimly aware that some excitement of a detached nature
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