This common failing of indecision is not necessarily due to intellectual
laziness. It may be due, as in the case of Goschen, to too clear a vision
of all the aspects of a subject. "Goschen," said a famous First Sea Lord,
"was the cleverest man we ever had at the Admiralty, and the worst
administrator. He saw so many sides to a question that we could never get
anything done." A sense of responsibility, too, is a severe check on
action. I doubt whether any one who has dealt with affairs ever made up his
mind with more painful questionings than Lord Morley. I have heard him say
how burdensome he found the India Office, because day by day he had to make
irrevocable decisions. A certain adventurous recklessness is necessary for
the man of affairs. Joseph Chamberlain had that quality. Mr. Churchill has
it to-day. If it is controlled by high motives and a wide vision it is an
incomparable gift. If it is a mere passion for having one's own way it is
only the gift of the gambler.

But, you ask, what has this to do with putting on my boots? It is a
reasonable question. I will tell you. For an hour I had paced my room in my
slippers in search of a subject. I had looked out of the window over the
sunlit valley, watched the smoke of a distant train vanishing towards the
west, observed the activities of the rooks in a neighbouring elm. I had
pared my nails several times with absent-minded industry, and sharpened
every pencil I had on me with elaborate care. But the more I pared my nails
and the more I sharpened my pencils the more perplexed I grew as to the
theme for an article. Subjects crowded on me, "not single spies, but in
battalions." They jostled each other for preference, they clamoured for
notice as I have seen the dock labourers clamouring for a job at the London
docks. They held out their hands and cried, "Here am I: take me." And,
distracted by their importunities and starving in the midst of plenty, I
fished in my pocket for a pencil I had not sharpened. There wasn't one
left.