His Grace — page 223: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIS GRACE. 217 was right. Nothing could be gained by argument when the real premises were not before us, and I could only hope that Miss St. George, who was far more competent to undertake the task than I, would ere long convince him of the vanity of his ambitions. By the time that we had reached Whitehall we had abandoned the subject of finance. We were progress- ing along that thoroughfare, keeping up a desultory conversation upon topics of general interest, when whom should we encounter but the very insufficient fount and origin of all our woes. Mr. Gascoigne was evidently on his way towards Westminster, and looked the earnest legislator all over, with his unbuttoned frock-coat and his neat umbrella, which he carried over his shoulder, in imitation of a distinguished statesman with whose policy he seldom finds himself in accord. Nothing, I should think, can possibly prevent Mr. Gascoigne from becoming Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster some day. He was in plenty of time; and that, no doubt, was why he condescended to pull up and and shake hands with us both. ‘Well, Arthur,” said he, ‘‘ you were lucky, for once, at Sandown yesterday I am glad to hear.” ‘‘T won one race and lost another ; I didn’t do badly on the day,” answered Hurstbourne. ‘I don’t know why you should be glad to hear of it, though.” “T am always glad to hear of your having been suc- cessful,” was Mr. Gascoigne’s bland rejoinder. ‘I only wish you gave me more frequent occasions for rejoicing on that score.” “Oh, I’ll make you rejoice once or twice yet before I die,” retorted Hurstbourne grimly. Hurstbourne is as pretty a fighter as anybody could wish to see; but (E(0) m Eomichooks