If a poor engine driver
gets drunk and sends thirty or forty people to death, nobody
complains of the exposure being personal. The engine driver is not a
person."
"I quite agree with you," said Fisher, calmly. "You are perfectly
right."
"If you agree with us, why the devil don't you act with us?"
demanded his friend. "If you think it's right, why don't you do
what's right? It's awful to think of a man of your abilities simply
blocking the road to reform."
"We have often talked about that," replied Fisher, with the same
composure. "The Prime Minister is my father's friend. The Foreign
Minister married my sister. The Chancellor of the Exchequer is my
first cousin. I mention the genealogy in some detail just now for a
particular reason. The truth is I have a curious kind of
cheerfulness at the moment. It isn't altogether the sun and the sea,
sir. I am enjoying an emotion that is entirely new to me; a happy
sensation I never remember having had before."
"What the devil do you mean?"
"I am feeling proud of my family," said Horne Fisher.
Harold March stared at him with round blue eyes, and seemed too much
mystified even to ask a question. Fisher leaned back in his chair in
his lazy fashion, and smiled as he continued.
"Look here, my dear fellow.
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