Now, those who know me, if you ask them, will tell you that I’m a chump. My Aunt Agatha would testify to this effect. So would my Uncle Percy and many more of my nearest and⁠—if you like to use the expression⁠—dearest. Well, I don’t mind. I admit it. I am a chump. But what I do say⁠—and I should like to lay the greatest possible stress on this⁠—is that every now and then, just when the populace has given up hope that I will ever show any real human intelligence⁠—I get what it is idle to pretend is not an inspiration. And that’s what happened now. I doubt if the idea that came to me at this juncture would have occurred to a single one of any dozen of the largest-brained blokes in history. Napoleon might have got it, but I’ll bet Darwin and Shakespeare and Thomas Hardy wouldn’t have thought of it in a thousand years.