Further Foolishness by Stephen Leacock (win 10 ebook reader txt) 📖

"But who is this?" added the Field-Marshal, looking angrily at me.

My costume, or rather my disguise, for, as I have said, I was wearing a poke bonnet with a plain black dress, seemed to puzzle him.

"My new governess," said Abdul. "She came this morning. She is a professor—"

"Bah!" said the Field-Marshal, "a woman a professor! Bah!"

"No, no," said Abdul in protest, and it seemed decent of the little creature to stick up for me. "She's all right, she is interesting and knows a great deal. She's from Canada!"

"What!" exclaimed Von der Doppelbauch. "From Canada! But stop! It seems to me that Canada is a country that we are at war with. Let me think, Canada? I must look at my list"—he pulled out a little set of tablets as he spoke—"let me see, Britain, Great Britain, British North America, British Guiana, British Nigeria—ha! of course, under K—Kandahar, Korfu. No, I don't seem to see it —Fritz," he called to the aide-de-camp who had announced him, "telegraph at once to the Topographical Staff at Berlin and find out if we are at war with Canada. If we are"—he pointed at me—"throw her into the Bosphorus. If we are not, treat her with every consideration, with every distinguished consideration. But see that she doesn't get away. Keep her tight, till we are at war with Canada, as no doubt we shall be, wherever it is, and then throw her into the Bosphorus."

The aide clicked his heels and withdrew.

"And now, your majesty," continued the Field-Marshal, turning abruptly to the Sultan, "I bring you good news."

"More good news," groaned Abdul miserably, winding his clasped fingers to and fro. "Alas, good news again!"

"First," said Von der Doppelbauch, "the Kaiser has raised you to the order of the Black Dock. Here is your feather."

"Another feather," moaned Abdul. "Here, Toomuch, take it and put it among the feathers!"

"Secondly," went on the Field-Marshal, checking off his items as he spoke, "your contribution, your personal contribution to His Majesty's Twenty-third Imperial Loan, is accepted."

"I didn't make any!" sobbed Abdul.

"No difference," said Von der Doppelbauch. "It is accepted anyway. The telegram has just arrived accepting all your money. My assistants are packing it up outside."

Abdul collapsed still further into his cushions.

"Third, and this will rejoice your Majesty's heart: Your troops are again victorious!"

"Victorious!" moaned Abdul. "Victorious again! I knew they would be! I suppose they are all dead as usual?"

"They are," said the Marshal. "Their souls," he added reverently, with a military salute, "are in Heaven!"

"No, no," gasped Abdul, "not in Heaven! don't say that! Not in Heaven! Say that they are in Nishvana, our Turkish paradise."

"I am sorry," said the Field-Marshal gravely. "This is a Christian war. The Kaiser has insisted on their going to Heaven."

The Sultan bowed his head.

"Ishmillah!" he murmured. "It is the will of Allah."

"But they did not die without glory," went on the Field-Marshal. "Their victory was complete. Set it out to yourself," and here his eyes glittered with soldierly passion. "There stood your troops—ten thousand! In front of them the Russians—a hundred thousand. What did your men do? Did they pause? No, they charged!"

"They charged!" cried the Sultan in misery. "Don't say that! Have they charged again! Just Allah!" he added, turning to Toomuch. "They have charged again! And we must pay, we shall have to pay—we always do when they charge. Alas, alas, they have charged again. Everything is charged!"

"But how nobly," rejoined the Prussian. "Imagine it to yourself! Here, beside this stool, let us say, were your men. There, across the cushion, were the Russians. All the ground between was mined. We knew it. Our soldiers knew it. Even our staff knew it. Even Prinz Tattelwitz Halfstuff, our commander, knew it. But your soldiers did not. What did our Prinz do? The Prinz called for volunteers to charge over the ground. There was a great shout—from our men, our German regiments. He called again. There was another shout. He called still again. There was a third shout. Think of it! And again Prinz Halfstuff called and again they shouted."

"Who shouted?" asked the Sultan gloomily.

"Our men, our Germans."

"Did my Turks shout?" asked Abdul.

"They did not. They were too busy tightening their belts and fixing their bayonets. But our generous fellows shouted for them. Then Prinz Halfstuff called out, 'The place of honour is for our Turkish brothers. Let them charge!' And all our men shouted again."

"And they charged?"

"They did—and were all gloriously blown up. A magnificent victory. The blowing up of the mines blocked all the ground, checked the Russians and enabled our men, by a prearranged rush, to advance backwards, taking up a new strategic—"

"Yes, yes," said Abdul, "I know—I have read of it, alas, only too often! And they are dead! Toomuch," he added quietly, drawing a little pouch from his girdle, "take this pouch of rubies and give them to the wives of the dead general of our division—one to each. He had, I think, but seventeen. His walk was quiet. Allah give him peace."

"Stop," said Von der Doppelbauch. "I will take the rubies. I myself will charge myself with the task and will myself see that I do it myself. Give me them."

"Be it so, Toomuch," assented the Sultan humbly. "Give them to him."

"And now," continued the Field-Marshal, "there is yet one other thing further still more." He drew a roll of paper from his pocket. "Toomuch," he said, "bring me yonder little table, with ink, quills and sand. I have here a manifesto for His Majesty to sign."

"No, no," cried Abdul in renewed alarm. "Not another manifesto. Not that! I signed one only last week."

"This is a new one," said the Field-Marshal, as he lifted the table that Toomuch had brought into place in front of the Sultan, and spread out the papers on it. "This is a better one. This is the best one yet."

"What does it say?" said Abdul, peering at it miserably, "I can't read it. It's not in Turkish."

"It is your last word of proud defiance to all your enemies," said the Marshal.

"No, no," whined Abdul. "Not defiance; they might not understand."

"Here you declare," went on the Field-Marshal, with his big finger on the text, "your irrevocable purpose. You swear that rather than submit you will hurl yourself into the Bosphorus."

"Where does it say that?" screamed Abdul.

"Here beside my thumb."

"I can't do it, I can't do it,"