nervously
just before the hour arranged, and said he hadn't the slightest idea
what he was going to talk about, the advisers, who knew him well, were
not at all perturbed. They had heard him go on like that many times
before. Sure enough he had a statement prepared in his head, which he
delivered admirably. He showed no signs of nervousness. He answered
questions promptly, with an amazing flow of statistics for which he
carried no notes, and by the time it all came to a close he was
completely at ease and thoroughly efficient. The reporters were just
putting away their pencils when Sir Ernest quietly fainted.
"Though
what else he could have expected after behaving as he did I don't
know," said Lady Oppenheimer to an acquaintance, when the crisis was
over and her husband was safe back in Johannesburg. "All that
excitement and the bad air. He's not used to the tension of London in
any case, and there he stood in a crowded, smoke-filled room for more
than half an hour, and he was talking the whole time. Of course it was
the smoke. After all, he's an old man, but he's very strong."
It
is necessary for his family to mention this truth about his strength
from time to time, for another deceptive impression he somehow imparts,
without in the least wishing to deceive, is of constitutional delicacy.
(Though when he's been ill he likes to get credit for it. "You must
never tell Ernest he's looking well," said a close friend. "Just tell
him he's looking much better.") He is small and quiet, and people want
to take care of him and cosset him, but he has a reputation among his
cronies for extraordinary bodily toughness.
These
cronies can fairly be described as few and faithful. Oppenheimer has
led a sheltered life, in spite of its excitements. He has always dwelt
in the stability of one overpowering in-
