"
"Napoleon hasn't made a fool of himself, you can make yourself easy on
that score," Saunders retorted. "Napoleon knows on which side of the
bread his butter lies, even if you don't. When he dances attendance on
any one, you can take it on trust that the butter isn't far off. No,
no; I've a great reverence for Nappy's genius."
"It's an infernally undignified proceeding, anyhow," Webb went on.
"I'm beginning to see that old Stafford wasn't so far wrong. What do
we want with the fellow? All this kowtowing will go to his head and
make him as 'uppish' as the rest of 'em. He's conceited enough,
already, aping us as though he had been at it all his life."
"That's the mistake we English are always making," grumbled Saunders,
as he played out. "We are too familiar. We swallow anything for
diplomacy's sake, even if it hasn't got so much as a coating of
varnish. We pull these fellows up to our level and pamper them as
though they were our equals, and then when they find we won't go the
whole hog, they turn nasty and there's the devil to pay. In this case
I didn't mind so long as he kept his place, but then that's what they
never do. That's our rubber, I think. Shall we stop?"
"I've had enough, anyhow," his vis-a-vis answered. "Add up the dern
total, will you, there's a good fellow. I must be getting home.
There's that boring parade to-morrow at five again, and I've got a
headache that will last me a week, thanks to Nappy's bad champagne.
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