But Crosbie was not a man to commit suicide.  In giving him his due I must protest that he was too good for that.  He knew too well that a pistol-bullet could not be the be-all and the end-all here, and there was too much manliness in him for so cowardly an escape.  The burden must be borne.  But how was he to bear it?  There he sat till it was two o’clock, neglecting Mr Butterwell and his office papers, and not stirring from his seat till a messenger summoned him before the Board.  The Board, as he entered the room, was not such a Board as the public may, perhaps, imagine such Boards to be.  There was a round table, with a few pens lying about, and a comfortable leathern arm-chair at the side of it, farthest from the door.  Sir Raffle Buffle was leaving his late colleagues, and was standing with his back to the fire-place, talking very loudly.  Sir Raffle was a great bully, and the Board was uncommonly glad to be rid of him; but as this was to be his last appearance at the Committee Office, they submitted to his voice meekly.  Mr Butterwell was standing close to him, essaying to laugh mildly at Sir Raffle’s jokes.  A little man, hardly more than five feet high, with small but honest-looking eyes, and close-cut hair, was standing behind the arm-chair, rubbing his hands together, and longing for the departure of Sir Raffle, in order that he might sit down.  This was Mr Optimist, the new chairman, in praise of whose appointment the Daily Jupiter had been so loud, declaring that the present Minister was showing himself superior to all Ministers who had ever gone before him, in giving promotion solely on the score of merit.  The Daily Jupiter, a fortnight since, had published a very eloquent article, strongly advocating the claims of Mr Optimist, and was naturally pleased to find that its advice had been taken.  Has not an obedient Minister a right to the praise of those powers which he obeys?

Mr Optimist was, in truth, an industrious little gentleman, very well connected, who had served the public all his life, and who was, at any rate, honest in his dealings.  Nor was he a bully, such as his predecessor.  It might, however, be a question whether he carried guns enough for the command in which he was now to be employed.  There was but one other member of the Board, Major Fiasco by name, a discontented, broken-hearted, silent man, who had been sent to the General Committee Office some few years before because he was not wanted anywhere else.  He was a man who had intended to do great things when he entered public life, and had possessed the talent and energy for things moderately great.  He had also possessed to a certain extent the ear of those high in office; but, in some way, matters had not gone well with him, and in running his course he had gone on the wrong side of the post.  He was still in the prime of life, and yet all men knew that Major Fiasco had nothing further to expect from the public or from the Government.  Indeed,