has looked in for a quiet talk about the
situation.

When they are all ready for their quiet talks the public man decides that
it is time he got up; he leaps out of bed and rushes out of the room and
shaves and baths and does his exercises very very quickly. Then he rushes
back and has a talk with the HOME SECRETARY on the telephone while he is
drying his ears. When his ears are nice and dry he rings off and ties his
tie, meanwhile dictating a nasty letter to _The Times_ about the Scavengers
(Minimum Wage) (Scotland) No. 2 Bill. In the middle of this letter two new
crises arise--(1) The HOME SECRETARY'S Private Secretary's Secretary rings
up and says that the Fish-Friers' deputation is postponed till 11 A.M.
because of a Cabinet Meeting about the new war. (2) The Assistant-Secretary
to the PRIME MINISTER'S Principal Secretary's Secretary rings up and says
that the PRIME MINISTER can see the public man for ten seconds at one
minute past eleven. It is now clear that the Bottle-Washers and the
Fish-Friers and the PRIME MINISTER are going to clash pretty badly, and a
scene of intense confusion takes place. The public man runs about the room
in his shirt-sleeves smelling distractedly at the papers on the floor and
on the bed and everywhere else. Some of the papers he throws at the Private
Secretary and tells him to write a memorandum about them, and go and see
the War Office about them and have six copies made of them. Most of them,
however, he just throws on the floor or hides away in a dressing-gown where
the Private Secretary won't find them; this is the only way of making sure
of a permanent supply of good crises. A crisis about a lost document is far
and away the most fruitful kind of crisis.

Meanwhile the valet pursues the public man about the room with spats and
tries to attach them to his person. If he can attach both spats before the
Fish-Friers' man really gets hold of him he has won the game. The
Fish-Friers' man keeps clearing his throat and beginning, "The position is
this--"; and the Private Secretary keeps saying in a cold dispassionate
voice, "Are you going to the Lord Mayor's lunch?" or "How much will you
give to the Dyspeptic Postmen's Association?" or "What about this letter
from Bunt?"

The public man takes no notice of any one of them, but says rapidly over
and over again, "Where are my spectacles?" or "What have you done with the
brown socks?" He is playing for time. If he can put them off for a litt