Chippendale, and chilled to the uncomfortable low temperature that hardy
Britons pretend to enjoy, formed part of an unassailably correct house
of mid-Victorian style and antiquity; and the house formed part of an
unassailably correct square just behind Hyde Park Gardens.
(Taxi-drivers, when told the name of the square, had to reflect for a
fifth of a second before they could recall its exact situation.)

Mr. Prohack was a fairly tall man, with a big head, big features, and a
beard. His characteristic expression denoted benevolence based on an
ironic realisation of the humanity of human nature. He was forty-six
years of age and looked it. He had been for more than twenty years at
the Treasury, in which organism he had now attained a certain
importance. He was a Companion of the Bath. He exulted in the fact that
the Order of the Bath took precedence of those bumptious Orders, Star of
India, St. Michael and St. George, Indian Empire, Royal Victorian and
British Empire; but he laughed at his wife for so exulting. If the
matter happened to be mentioned he would point out that in the table of
precedence Companions of the Bath ranked immediately below Masters in
Lunacy.

He was proud of the Treasury's war record. Other departments of State
had swollen to amazing dimensions during the war. The Treasury, while
its work had been multiplied a hundredfold, had increased its personnel
by only a negligible percentage. It was the cheapest of all the
departments, the most efficient, and the most powerful. The War Office,
the Admiralty, and perhaps one other department presided over by a
personality whom the Prime Minister feared, did certainly defy and even
ignore the Treasury. But the remaining departments (and especially the
"mushroom ministries") might scheme as much as they liked,--they could
do nothing until the Treasury had approved their enterprises. Modest Mr.