MR. CATO found his path unexpectedly smooth. The Colonial Secretary, delighted at shifting an awkward responsibility on to the shoulders of a political opponent, telegraphed a gracious acceptance of Mr. Cato’s offer to take charge of the Prince. The two thousand a year was promised without bargaining, with another two thousand down for initial expenses. The Colonial Court, it is true, had decided against the Sooching claim, but leave was given to appeal; and Mr. Cato took a lawyer and a packing-case full of evidence with him on board the P. & O. in order to carry the question before the Privy Council.
He had taken up the clubs for Prince Dwala on purely unselfish grounds, but he could not help feeling a personal satisfaction in the results of what he had done. His whole tour had been a success; now that he had seen the various kinds of native whom he had so long championed in Parliament, the rightness of his attitude came home to him with a picturesque forcibleness. He was like a dramatist who had seen all his plays acted one after the other for the first time. And now by this last lucky hit he had put himself over the heads of all his rivals in his own peculiar line of politics. Prince Dwala’s case would be famous; his colleagues would help him trounce the Government for this wicked gold war; the credit of it would be his; every question would come round to him for a final answer; the oppressed native would be sitting at home in his drawing-room. As he lay awake in his bunk he caught himself musing pleasurably over the social distinction which it might involve. Nonsense! A Prince is no better than any other man, or very little. Still, other people think so; it would be amusing to watch their demeanour.
It was no light matter being in charge of a Prince on board ship. Mr. Cato found it best during the daytime to keep him as much as possible in his cabin, where he sat looking patiently out of a port-hole, saying over new words and phrases he had heard, or making cigarettes with the little machine which Mr. Cato carried about with him—a contrivance which inspired him with far greater interest and awe than the complications of the engine-room. It was the best cabin on board, by-the-bye, for the Shanghai merchant had insisted on giving it up to the Prince. It was not that Dwala claimed any outward signs of respect—he was modesty itself; but his presence caused a certain gêne among the other passengers, who were uncertain whether to rise from their seats or not when he entered the reading-room. Then he had no idea of punctuality, and naturally nobody liked to begin dinner until he came in. The sailors had no end of a job enticing him down from the crosstrees, where he had ensconced himself at the sound of the dinner-bell. Then again, the chief steward was nearly frightened out of his wits, when he leaned over his shoulder to offer him potatoes, at the way the Prince grabbed his plate and growled, under the impression that he wanted to take it away from him. The passengers saw but little of him till the last night of the voyage, when they insisted on his presiding at the concert in aid of the Sailors’ Orphanage. They were all immensely impressed by the grave attention with which he listened to the comic songs.
Mr. Cato was very busy all day going through the evidence with the lawyer; and half of every night he spent following the Prince in his swift rambles over the ship, seeing that he did not get into mischief. It was a relief when they landed at last in England.