"Well, really then," said the King, "from what department does this
objection to the donation emanate?"

"From no department, your Majesty. The objection is on general grounds
of policy."

The King's pride and modesty were becoming a little hurt; he was annoyed
that so small a matter of private charity should be thus canvassed and
brought within the range of politics. Subconsciously he had also another
and a more symbolic reason which helped him to show fight.

"Really, my dear General," he said, "I think we are discussing this
matter very unnecessarily. The widow is still a widow, and the children,
who you tell me number seven, are orphans; and surely at his death a man
ceases to be either a blackleg or a trades unionist. He is not working
against orders now, at any rate. Make it twenty! make it twenty." (His
utterance grew hurried; a way he had when crossed and anxious not to
have to give way.) "I can't hear anything more about it now: I have
Brasshay waiting to see me." And as at that moment the Prime Minister
was announced, the Comptroller-General, for the present at any rate,
"made it twenty" and retired. But he did so with a wry and a determined
face.

As for the King he was thoroughly put out; the steeplejack was by
association beginning to assume in his mind a very particular
importance; he had become a symbol not merely of the sovereign himself,
but of that act of statesmanship which he had been adjured to undertake
by his favorite newspaper. This man, his prototype, had failed to add in
completeness that luster which he had set out to add; had even died in