CHAPTER XVIIC
udby
returned from a reluctant holiday in Switzerland, whither Jasper had sent him, and immediately set to work to drive his beloved chief out of London. He needed rest, he needed country air, he needed fattening on the bread of idleness, said Cudby. He was a spectre, an elf-skin, a dried-neat’s tongue, a lean and envious Casca, a Picture of Nobody, a whole catalogue of Shakespearian synonyms for the attenuated human. By dint of sheer worry Cudby prevailed upon him to consider the question seriously. His heavy year’s work had told upon him. During the session he had exhausted himself in trying to stir a languid government. The government would not be moved. He saw a dissolution ahead,—a new government in power smilingly repudiating the pledges of its predecessor. He found h
