"What sort of measures, Dizzy?"
"Rationing water, shutting off
smokestacks and gaslights, that sort of thing," Disraeli said airily. "One may say what one likes about the institution of merit-lordship. But at least it has guaranteed that the leadership of our country is not stupid."
Disraeli spread his notes across the desk. "The Government have highly scientific contingency plans, you know. Your invasions, your fires, your droughts and plagues" He leafed through the notes, licking his thumb. "Some people dote on contemplating disasters."
Mallory found this gossip difficult to believe. "What exactly is contained in these 'contingency plans'?"
"All sorts of things. Evacuation plans, I suppose."
"Surely you're not implying that Government intend to evacuate London."
Disraeli smiled wickedly. "If you smelled the Thames outside Parliament, you wouldn't wonder that our solons want to bolt."
"That bad, eh?"
"The Thames is a putrid, disease-ridden tidal sewer!" Disraeli proclaimed. "Thickened with ingredients from breweries, gas-works, and chemical and mineral factories! Putrid matter hangs like vile seaweed from the pilings of Westminster Bridge, and every passing steamer chums up a feculent eddy that nearly overwhelms her crew with foetor!"
Mallory smiled. "Wrote an editorial about it, did we?"
"For the Morning Clarion" Disraeli shrugged. "I admit my rhetoric is somewhat over-colored. But it has been a damned odd summer, and that's the truth. A few days of good soaking rain, to flush out the Thames and break these odd stifling clouds, and all will be well with us. But much more of this freak weather, and those who are elderly, or weak of lung, may suffer greatly."
"You think so, truly?"
Disraeli lowered his voice. "They say the cholera is loose again in Limehouse."
Mallory felt a dreadful chill. "Who says it?"
"Dame Rumour. But who will doubt her in these circumstances? In such a vile summer, it's all too likely that effluvia and foetor will spread a deadly contagion." Disraeli emptied his pipe and began re-loading it from a rubber-sealed humidor stuffed with black Turkish shag. "I dearly love this city, Mallory, but there are times when discretion must outweigh devotion. You have family in Sussex, I know. If I were you, I should leave at once, and join them."
"But I have a speech to deliver. In two days. On the Brontosaurus. With kinotrope accompaniment!"
"Cancel the speech," Disraeli said, fussing with a repeating-match. "Postpone it."
"I cannot. It is to be a great occasion, a great professional and popular event!"
"Mallory, there shan't be anyone to see it. No one who matters, anyway. You'll be wasting your breath."
"There shall be working-men," Mallory said stubbornly. "The humbler classes can't afford to leave London."
"Oh," Disraeli nodded, puffing smoke. "That will be splendid. The sort of fellows who read tuppenny dreadfuls. Be sure to commend me to your audience."
Mallory set his jaw stubbornly.
Disraeli sighed. "Let's to work. We've a lot to do." He plucked the latest issue of Family Museum from a shelf. "What did you think of last week's episode?"
"Fine. The best yet."
"Too much damned scientific theory in it," Disraeli said. "It needs more sentimental interest."
"What's wrong with theory, if it is good theory?"
"No one but a specialist wants to read about the hinging pressures of a reptile's jawbone, Mallory. Truth to tell, there's only one thing people really want to know about dinosaurs: why the damned things are all dead."
"I thought we agreed to save that for the end."
"Oh, yes. Makes a fine climax, that business with the great smashing comet, and the great black dust-storm wiping out all reptilian life and so forth. Very dramatic, very catastrophic. That's what the public likes about Catastrophism, Mallory. Catastrophe feels better than this Uniformity drivel about the Earth being a thousand million years old. Tedious and boringboring on the face of it!"
"An appeal to vulgar emotion is neither here nor there!" Mallory said hotly. "The evidence supports me! Look at the Moonabsolutely covered with comet-craters!"
"Yes," Disraeli said absently, "rigorous science, so much the better."
"No one can explain how the Sun could burn for even ten million years. No combustion could last that longit violates elementary laws of physics! "
"Give it a rest for a moment. I'm all with your friend Huxley that we should enlighten the public ignorance, but one must throw the dog a bone every once in a while. Our readers want to know about Leviathan Mallory, the man."
Mallory grunted.
"That's why we must get back to the business
of this Indian girl."
Mallory shook his head. He had been dreading this. "She wasn't a 'girl.' She was a native woman "
"We've already explained that you've never married," Disraeli said patiently. "You won't acknowledge any English sweetheart. The time has come to bring out this Indian maiden. You don't have to be indecent or blunt about matters. Just a few kind words about her, a gallantry or two, a few dropped hints. Women dote on that business, Mallory. And they read far more than men do." Disraeli picked up his reservoir-pen. "You haven't even told me her name."