; but expect
a son, when _he_ comes to such moments, to find them quite jolly. He's
to make up for the weakness of his father, and carry his own burdens,
too!

I regret to say Grandfather Dilke sought relief in this way. Although
young, strong, and gifted, he said when his own son was born that he
then and there committed all his dreams of achievement to Baby. Baby was
to go out in the world and do his papa honor.

The child was called Wentworth, and it grew up sound, healthy, and kind.
But when poor Mr. Dilke bet on Wentworth, he backed the wrong horse.
Wentworth didn't have anything in him of the statesman or scholar. He
was idle at studies. No head for them. What he liked was athletics. He
liked comradeship and enjoying life generally--in a nice way, however. A
simple, conservative-minded and limited soul. During his early years in
London he was principally known to his friends for never missing a
night at the opera. And he was devoted to shooting-parties.

Later on, he became still more trying, it would seem, to his parent.
Instead of remaining in his place as a plain disappointment, he began to
be prominent; and, stupidly, in just the wrong field. He became a sort
of parody of the man his father had hoped he would be. He hadn't the
brains, for example, to do anything in the learned Athenaeum, but he
founded The Gardeners' Chronicle and the Agricultural Gazette. He did
well with them, too, which was irritating. He turned out to be a good
man of business.

About this time a National Exhibition of some sort was held, and
Wentworth was in on it. (It was an exhibition of "art manufacturers.")
Then somebody got the idea of repeating it on a large scale and
including foreign nations: in fact to make it the first of World's
Fairs. So Wentworth and the others met the Prince Consort, to get
Royalty's blessing.

The Prince Consort liked the plan immensely. He made it his hobby.
Numerous committees were appointed, in true simian style, and amid
endless speeches and palaverings, the thing was arranged. Wentworth,
except when on shooting-parties, worked hard for it.

This made a great noise; but I doubt if it impressed Mr. Dilke. It was
at bottom cheap stuff which any advertiser or promoter could do. It
sounded well; it made a man prominent, but it didn't take brains. What
Mr. Dilke had hoped or intended for his son I don't know; perhaps
nothing definite; but he certainly wanted something that counted. He
wanted him to m