As Du Roy came in, the governor uttered a cry of joy: “Ah! how lucky; here is Pretty-boy!” He stopped short, somewhat confused, and excused himself: “I beg your pardon for speaking like that, but I am very much disturbed by certain events. And then I hear my wife and daughter speaking of you as Pretty-boy from morning till night, and have ended by falling into the habit myself. You are not offended?”
“Not at all!” said George, laughingly; “there is nothing in that nickname to displease me.”
Daddy Walter went on: “Very well, then, I christen you Pretty-boy, like everyone else. Well, the fact is, great things are taking place. The Ministry has been overthrown by a vote of three hundred and ten to a hundred and two. Our prorogation is again postponed—postponed to the Greek calends, and here we are at the twenty-eighth of July. Spain is angry about the Morocco business, and it is that which has overthrown Durand de l’Aine and his following. We are right in the swim. Marrot is entrusted with the formation of a new Cabinet. He takes General Boutin d’Acre as minister of war, and our friend Laroche-Mathieu for foreign affairs. We are going to become an official organ. I am writing a leader, a simple declaration of our principles, pointing out the line to be followed by the Ministry.” The old boy smiled, and continued: “The line they intend following, be it understood. But I want something interesting about Morocco; an actuality; a sensational article; something or other. Find one for me.”
Du Roy reflected for a moment, and then replied: “I have the very thing for you. I will give you a study of the political situation of the whole of our African colony, with Tunis on the left, Algeria in the middle, and Morocco on the right; the history of the races inhabiting this vast extent of territory; and the narrative of an excursion on the frontier of Morocco to the great oasis of Figuig, where no European has penetrated, and which is the cause of the present conflict. Will that suit you?”