With a quick characteristic motion of the thumb resembling a
stab he rings the bell. A flunkey instantly appears. "Bust that dust,"
says the WAR MINISTER. And then, correcting himself instantly, with a
genial smile, "I should say, Dust that bust."
But NAPOLEON'S is not the only head that adorns Mr. WINSTON
CHURCHILL'S room. On a bookshelf opposite is a model of his own head,
such as one may sometimes see in the shop windows of hatters, and
close beside is a small private hat-making plant, together with an
adequate supply of the hair of the rabbit, the beaver, the vicuna and
similar rodents, and a quantity of shellac. Few days pass in which the
WAR MINISTER does not spend an hour or two at his charming hobby, for,
contrary to the general opinion, he is far from satisfied with the
headgear by which he is so well known, or even with the Sandringham
hat of _The Daily Mail_, and lives always in hopes of modelling the
ideal hat which is destined to immortalise him and be worn by others
for centuries to come. The work of a great statesman lives frequently
in the mindful brain of posterity, less frequently upon it.
Other mementos which adorn this remarkable room at the War Office are
a porcelain pot containing a preserve of Blenheim oranges, a framed
photograph of the Free Trade Hall at Manchester, a map of Mesopotamia
with the outpost lines and sentry groups of the original Garden of
Eden, marked by paper flags, and a number of lion-skin rugs of which
the original occupants were stalked and killed by their owner on his
famous African tour.
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