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Again, my congratulations." "Thanks, Admiral Hawarden. I've got to get busy now, on my report to the Council." "Call on me for any help I can give. I'd offer you my confidential secretary to dictate them to, if it wasn't so secret." "Thanks. She would be a big help, but we'd better not." "How'd you know it was a 'she'?"
Better use a disguise and different name, hadn't you?" Hanlon nodded. "False mustache, skin darkened, contact lenses to color my eyes. And I'll call myself Spencer Newton." Hawarden looked surprised. "You pick a name fast." The SS man grinned back. "It's the one I was born with," and then the admiral really was surprised, but asked no questions. He filled in the pass with that name.
"He threw aside polemics and criticisms, he forgot for awhile Homer and the Pope," and "rushed from his library at Hawarden, forgetting alike ancient Greece and modern Rome," as he flung himself with impassioned energy and youthful vigor into a new crusade against Turkey.
He hurriedly continued punching. "I know His Highness was the guiding mind behind that, for I was supposed to be working for him, and I've just come back from four months there." The emperor started to deny it, but Admiral Hawarden stepped closer to the desk and fixed the monarch with a stern eye.
But a change there had to be, and Victoria vainly tried to console herself for the loss of her favourite Minister by bestowing a peerage upon Mrs. Disraeli. Mr. Gladstone was in his shirt-sleeves at Hawarden, cutting down a tree, when the royal message was brought to him. "Very significant," he remarked, when he had read the letter, and went on cutting down his tree.
It was in December, 1885, that the present Lord Gladstone; in conjunction with the late Sir Wemyss Reid, sent up "the Hawarden Kite." After a lapse of thirty-two years, that strange creature is still flapping about in a stormy sky; and in the process of time it has become a familiar, if not an attractive, object. But the history of its earlier gyrations must be briefly recalled.
Hanlon took the bird, and handed it to one of the marines, meanwhile impressing on its mind that it was safe among friends. "Look after her." And withdrew his mind. "She gets good care the rest of her life," the admiral ordered the wondering marines. "Wait outside." Hawarden looked about the room. "Who are these men ... and what in Snyder's name happened to them?"
It was particularly rich in classical and theological works, so it occured to its owner to form a public library under a trusteeship, for the benefit of students, under the care of the Rector of Hawarden, or some other clergyman. So he caused to be erected at a cost to him of about $5,000, a corrugated iron building on a knoll just outside Hawarden Church.
We speak of "the duality of the human mind," but here are half a dozen spirits in one. They rule in turn, and occasionally several of them struggle for the mastery. When the Fisk Jubilee Singers visited England, we find Gladstone dropping the affairs of State to hear their music. He invited them to Hawarden, where he sang with them.
"Why did he say they were building them elsewhere than on this planet?" Hawarden asked. The emperor frowned in concentration, then a peculiar look came over his features. "That's strange," he marvelled. "You would think I would have been sure to ask that, but I cannot find any memory of ever having done so."
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