Further Foolishness

Ch. 12 - Abdul Aziz Has His

An Adventure in the Yildiz Kiosk

"Come, come, Abdul," I said, putting my hand, not unkindly,

on his shoulder, "tell me all about it."

But he only broke out into renewed sobbing.

"There, there," I continued soothingly. "Don't cry, Abdul.

Look! Here's a lovely narghileh for you to smoke, with

a gold mouthpiece. See! Wouldn't you like a little latakia,

eh? And here's a little toy Armenian--look! See his head

come off--snick! There, it's on again, snick! now it's

off! look, Abdul!"

But still he sobbed.

His fez had fallen over his ears and his face was all

smudged with tears.

It seemed impossible to stop him.

I looked about in vain from the little alcove of the hall

of the Yildiz Kiosk where we were sitting on a Persian

bench under a lemon-tree. There was no one in sight. I

hardly knew what to do.

In the Yildiz Kiosk--I think that was the name of the

place--I scarcely as yet knew my way about. In fact, I

had only been in it a few hours. I had come there--as I

should have explained in commencing--in order to try to

pick up information as to the exact condition of things

in Turkey. For this purpose I had assumed the character

and disguise of an English governess. I had long since

remarked that an English governess is able to go anywhere,

see everything, penetrate the interior of any royal palace

and move to and fro as she pleases without hindrance and

without insult. No barrier can stop her. Every royal

court, however splendid or however exclusive, is glad to

get her. She dines with the King or the Emperor as a

matter of course. All state secrets are freely confided

to her and all military plans are submitted to her

judgment. Then, after a few weeks' residence, she leaves

the court and writes a book of disclosures.

This was now my plan.

And, up to the moment of which I speak, it had worked

perfectly.

I had found my way through Turkey to the royal capital

without difficulty. The poke bonnet, the spectacles and

the long black dress which I had assumed had proved an

ample protection. None of the rude Turkish soldiers

among whom I had passed had offered to lay a hand on me.

This tribute I am compelled to pay to the splendid morality

of the Turks. They wouldn't touch me.

Access to the Yildiz Kiosk and to the Sultan had proved

equally easy. I had merely to obtain an interview with

Codfish Pasha, the Secretary of War, whom I found a

charming man of great intelligence, a master of three or

four languages (as he himself informed me), and able to

count up to seventeen.

"You wish," he said, "to be appointed as English, or

rather Canadian governess to the Sultan?"

"Yes," I answered.

"And your object?"

"I propose to write a book of disclosures."

"Excellent," said Codfish.

An hour later I found myself, as I have said, in a

flag-stoned hall of the Yildiz Kiosk, with the task of

amusing and entertaining the Sultan.

Of the difficulty of this task I had formed no conception.

Here I was at the outset, with the unhappy Abdul bent

and broken with sobs which I found no power to check or

control.

Naturally, therefore, I found myself at a loss. The little

man as he sat on his cushions, in his queer costume and

his long slippers with his fez fallen over his

lemon-coloured face, presented such a pathetic object

that I could not find the heart to be stern with him.

"Come, now, Abdul," I said, "be good!"

He paused a moment in his crying--

"Why do you call me Abdul?" he asked. "That isn't my

name."

"Isn't it?" I said. "I thought all you Sultans were called

Abdul. Isn't the Sultan's name always Abdul?"

"Mine isn't," he whimpered, "but it doesn't matter," and

his face began to crinkle up with renewed weeping. "Call

me anything you like. It doesn't matter. Anyway I'd rather

be called Abdul than be called a W-W-War Lord and a

G-G-General when they won't let me have any say at all--"

And with that the little Sultan burst into unrestrained

crying.

"Abdul," I said firmly, "if you don't stop crying, I'll

go and fetch one of the Bashi-Bazouks to take you away."

The little Sultan found his voice again.

"There aren't any Bub-Bub-Bashi-Bazouks left," he sobbed.

"None left?" I exclaimed. "Where are they gone?"

"They've t-t-taken them all aw-w-way--"

"Who have?"

"The G-G-G-Germans," sobbed Abdul. "And they've sent them

all to P-P-P-Poland."

"Come, come, Abdul," I said, straightening him up a little

as he sat. "Brace up! Be a Turk! Be a Mohammedan! Don't

act like a Christian."

This seemed to touch his pride. He made a great effort

to be calm. I could hear him muttering to himself, "Allah,

Illallah, Mohammed rasoul Allah!" He said this over a

good many times, while I took advantage of the pause to

get his fez a little straighter and wipe his face.

"How many times have I said it?" he asked presently.

"Twenty."

"Twenty? That ought to be enough, shouldn't it?" said

the Sultan, regaining himself a little. "Isn't prayer

helpful, eh? Give me a smoke?"

I filled his narghileh for him, and he began to suck blue

smoke out of it with a certain contentment, while the

rose water bubbled in the bowl below.

"Now, Abdul," I said, as I straightened up his cushions

and made him a little more comfortable, "what is it? What

is the matter?"

"Why," he answered, "they've all g-g-gone--"

"Now, don't cry! Tell me properly."

"They've all gone b-b-back on me! Boo-hoo!"

"Who have? Who've gone back on you?"

"Why, everybody. The English and the French and everybody--"

"What _do_ you mean?" I asked with increasing interest.

"Tell me exactly what you mean. Whatever you say I will

hold sacred, of course."

I saw my part already to a volume of interesting

disclosures.

"They used to treat me so differently," Abdul went on,

and his sobbing ceased as he continued, "They used to

call me the Bully Boy of the Bosphorus. They said I was

the Guardian of the Golden Gate. They used to let me kill

all the Armenians I liked and nobody was allowed to

collect debts from me, and every now and then they used

to send me the nicest ultimatums--Oh, you don't know,"

he broke off, "how nice it used to be here in the Yildiz

in the old days! We used all to sit round here, in this

very hall, me and the diplomats, and play games, such as

'Ultimatum, ultimatum, who's got the ultimatum.' Oh, say,

it was so nice and peaceful! And we used to have big

dinners and conferences, especially after the military

manoeuvres and the autumn massacres--me and the diplomats,

all with stars and orders, and me in my white fez with

a copper tassel--and hold discussions about how to reform

Macedonia."

"But you spoilt it all, Abdul," I protested.

"I didn't, I didn't!" he exclaimed almost angrily. "I'd

have gone on for ever. It was all so nice. They used to

present me--the diplomats did--with what they called

their Minimum, and then we (I mean Codfish Pasha and me)

had to draft in return our Maximum--see?--and then we

all had to get together again and frame a _status quo_."

"But that couldn't go on for ever," I urged.

"Why not?" said Abdul. "It was a great system. We invented

it, but everybody was beginning to copy it. In fact, we

were leading the world, before all this trouble came.

Didn't you have anything of our system in your country

--what do you call it--in Canada?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Now that I come to think of it, we

were getting into it. But the war has changed it all--"

"Exactly," said Abdul. "There you are! All changed! The

good old days gone for ever!"

"But surely," I said, "you still have friends--the

Bulgarians."

The Sultan's little black eyes flashed with anger as he

withdrew his pipe for a moment from his mouth.

"The low scoundrels!" he said between his teeth. "The

traitors!"

"Why, they're your Allies!"

"Yes, Allah destroy them! They are. They've come over to

_our_ side. After centuries of fighting they refuse to

play fair any longer. They're on _our_ side! Who ever

heard of such a thing? Bah! But, of course," he added

more quietly, "we shall m******e them just the same. We

shall insist, in the terms of peace, on retaining our

rights of m******e. But then, no doubt, all the nations

will."

"But you have the Germans--" I began.

"Hush, hush," said Abdul, laying his hand on my arm.

"Some one might hear."

"You have the Germans," I repeated.

"The Germans," said Abdul, and his voice sounded in a

queer sing-song like that of a child repeating a lesson,

"are my noble friends, the Germans are my powerful allies,

the Kaiser is my good brother, the Reichstag is my

foster-sister. I love the Germans. I hate the English.

I love the Kaiser. The Kaiser loves me--"

"Stop, stop, Abdul," I said, "who taught you all that?"

Abdul looked cautiously around.

"_They_ did," he said in a whisper. "There's a lot more

of it. Would you like me to recite some more? Or, no,

no, what's the good? I've no heart for reciting any

longer." And at this Abdul fell to weeping again.

"But, Abdul," I said, "I don't understand. Why are you

so distressed just now? All this has been going on for

over two years. Why are you so worried just now?"

"Oh," exclaimed the little Sultan in surprise, "you

haven't heard! I see--you've only just arrived. Why,

to-day is the last day. After to-day it is all over."

"Last day for what?" I asked.

"For intervention. For the intervention of the United

States. The only thing that can save us. It was to have

come to-day, by the end of this full moon--our astrologers

had predicted it--Smith Pasha, Minister under Heaven of

the United States, had promised, if it came, to send it

to us at the earliest moment. How do they send it, do

you know, in a box, or in paper?"

"Stop," I said as my ear caught the sound of footsteps.

"There's some one coming now."

The sound of slippered feet was distinctly heard on the

stones in the outer corridor.

Abdul listened intently a moment.

"I know his slippers," he said.

"Who is it?"

"It is my chief secretary, Toomuch Koffi. Yes, here he

comes."

As the Sultan spoke, the doors swung open and there

entered an aged Turk, in a flowing gown and coloured

turban, with a melancholy yellow face, and a long white

beard that swept to his girdle.

"Who do you say he is?" I whispered to Abdul.

"My chief secretary," he whispered back. "Toomuch Koffi."

"He looks like it," I murmured.

Meantime, Toomuch Koffi had advanced across the broad

flagstones of the hall where we were sitting. With hands

lifted he salaamed four times--east, west, north, and

south.

"What does that mean?" I whispered.

"It means," said the Sultan, with visible agitation,

"that he has a communication of the greatest importance

and urgency, which will not brook a moment's delay."

"Well, then, why doesn't he get a move on?" I whispered.

"Hush," said Abdul.

Toomuch Koffi now straightened himself from his last

salaam and spoke.

"Allah is great!" he said.

"And Mohammed is his prophet," rejoined the Sultan.

"Allah protect you! And make your face shine," said

Toomuch.

"Allah lengthen your beard," said the Sultan, and he

added aside to me in English, which Toomuch Koffi evidently

did not understand, "I'm all eagerness to know what it

is--it's something big, for sure." The little man was

quite quivering with excitement as he spoke. "Do you know

what I think it is? I think it must be the American

Intervention. The United States is going to intervene.

Eh? What? Don't you think so?"

"Then hurry him up," I urged.

"I can't," said Abdul. "It is impossible in Turkey to do

business like that. He must have some coffee first and

then he must pray and then there must be an interchange

of presents."

I groaned, for I was getting as impatient as Abdul himself.

"Do you not do public business like that in Canada?" the

Sultan continued.

"We used to. But we have got over it," I said.

Meanwhile a slippered attendant had entered and placed

a cushion for the secretary, and in front of it a little

Persian stool on which he put a quaint cup filled with

coffee black as ink.

A similar cup was placed before the Sultan.

"Drink!" said Abdul.

"Not first, until the lips of the Commander of the

Faithful--"

"He means 'after you,'" I said. "Hurry up, Abdul."

Abdul took a sip.

"Allah is good," he said.

"And all things are of Allah," rejoined Toomuch.

Abdul unpinned a glittering jewel from his robe and threw

it to the feet of Toomuch.

"Take this poor bauble," he said.

Toomuch Koffi in return took from his wrist a solid bangle

of beaten gold.

"Accept this mean gift from your humble servant," he said.

"Right!" said Abdul, speaking in a changed voice as the

ceremonies ended. "Now, then, Toomuch, what is it? Hurry

up. Be quick. What is the matter?"

Toomuch rose to his feet, lifted his hands high in the

air with the palms facing the Sultan.

"One is without," he said.

"Without what?" I asked eagerly of the Sultan.

"Without--outside. Don't you understand Turkish? What

you call in English--a gentleman to see me."

"And did he make all that fuss and delay over that?" I

asked in disgust. "Why with us in Canada, at one of the

public departments of Ottawa, all that one would have to

do would be simply to send in a card, get it certified,

then simply wait in an anteroom, simply read a newspaper,

send in another card, wait a little, then simply send in

a third card, and then simply--"

"Pshaw!" said Abdul. "The cards might be poisoned. Our

system is best. Speak on, Toomuch. Who is without? Is it

perchance a messenger from Smith Pasha, Minister under

Heaven of the United States?"

"Alas, no!" said Toomuch. "It is HE. It is THE LARGE ONE!"

As he spoke he rolled his eyes upward with a gesture of

despair.

"HE!" cried Abdul, and a look of terror convulsed his

face. "The Large One! Shut him out! Call the Chief Eunuch

and the Major Domo of the Harem! Let him not in!"

"Alas," said Toomuch, "he threw them out of the window.

Lo! he is here, he enters."

As the secretary spoke, a double door at the end of the

hall swung noisily open, at the blow of an imperious

fist, and with a rattle of arms and accoutrements a man

of gigantic stature, wearing full military uniform and

a spiked helmet, strode into the room.

As he entered, an attendant who accompanied him, also in

a uniform and a spiked helmet, called in a loud strident

voice that resounded to the arches of the hall:

"His High Excellenz Feld Marechal von der Doppelbauch,

Spezial Representant of His Majestat William II, Deutscher

Kaiser and King of England!"

Abdul collapsed into a little heap. His fez fell over

his face. Toomuch Koffi had slunk into a corner.

Von der Doppelbauch strode noisily forward and came to

a stand in front of Abdul with a click and rattle after

the Prussian fashion.

"Majestat," he said in a deep, thunderous voice, "I greet

you. I bow low before you. Salaam! I kiss the floor at

your feet."

But in reality he did nothing of the sort. He stood to

the full height of his six feet six and glowered about him.

"Salaam!" said Abdul, in a feeble voice.

"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," moaned the little Sultan.

"More than that further," went on the Prussian quite

undisturbed, "you state hereby your fixed resolve, rather

than give in, to cast yourself from the highest pinnacle

of the topmost minaret of this palace."

"Oh, not the highest; don't make it the highest," moaned

Abdul.

"Your purpose is fixed. Nothing can alter it. Unless the

Allied Powers withdraw from their advance on Constantinople

you swear that within one hour you will fill your mouth

with mud and burn yourself alive."

"Just Allah!" cried the Sultan. "Does it say all that?"

"All that," said Von der Doppelbauch. "All that within

an hour. It is a splendid defiance. The Kaiser himself

has seen it and admired it. 'These,' he said, 'are the

words of a man!'"

"Did he say that?" said Abdul, evidently flattered. "And

is he too about to hurl himself off his minaret?"

"For the moment, no," replied Von der Doppelbauch sternly.

"Well, well," said Abdul, and to my surprise he began

picking up the pen and making ready. "I suppose if I must

sign it, I must." Then he marked the paper and sprinkled

it with sand. "For one hour? Well, well," he murmured.

"Von der Doppelbauch Pasha," he added with dignity, "you

are permitted to withdraw. Commend me to your Imperial

Master, my brother. Tell him that, when I am gone, he

may have Constantinople, provided only"--and a certain

slyness appeared in the Sultan's eye--"that he can get

it. Farewell."

The Field-Marshal, majestic as ever, gathered up the

manifesto, clicked his heels together and withdrew.

As the door closed behind him, I had expected the little

Sultan to fall into hopeless collapse.

Not at all. On the contrary, a look of peculiar cheerfulness

spread over his features.

He refilled his narghileh and began quietly smoking at it.

"Toomuch," he said, quite cheerfully, "I see there is no

hope."

"Alas!" said the secretary.

"I have now," went on the Sultan, "apparently but sixty

minutes in front of me. I had hoped that the intervention

of the United States might have saved me. It has not.

Instead of it, I meet my fate. Well, well, it is Kismet.

I bow to it."

He smoked away quite cheerfully.

Presently he paused.

"Toomuch," he said, "kindly go and fetch me a sharp

knife, double-edged if possible, but sharp, and a stout

bowstring."

Up to this time I had remained a mere spectator of what

had happened. But now I feared that I was on the brink

of witnessing an awful tragedy.

"Good heavens, Abdul," I said, "what are you going to do?"

"Do? Why kill myself, of course," the Sultan answered,

pausing for a moment in an interval of his cheerful

smoking. "What else should I do? What else is there to

do? I shall first stab myself in the stomach and then

throttle myself with the bowstring. In half an hour I

shall be in paradise. Toomuch, summon hither from the

inner harem Fatima and Falloola; they shall sit beside

me and sing to me at the last hour, for I love them well,

and later they too shall voyage with me to paradise. See

to it that they are both thrown a little later into the

Bosphorus, for my heart yearns towards the two of them,"

and he added thoughtfully, "especially perhaps towards

Fatima, but I have never quite made up my mind."

The Sultan sat back with a little gurgle of contentment,

the rose water bubbling soothingly in the bowl of his pipe.

Then he turned to his secretary again.

"Toomuch," he said, "you will at the same time send a

bowstring to Codfish Pasha, my Chief of War. It is our

sign, you know," he added in explanation to me--"it gives

Codfish leave to kill himself. And, Toomuch, send a

bowstring also to Beefhash Pasha, my Vizier--good fellow,

he will expect it--and to Macpherson Effendi, my financial

adviser. Let them all have bowstrings."

"Stop, stop," I pleaded. "I don't understand."

"Why surely," said the little man, in evident astonishment,

"it is plain enough. What would you do in Canada? When

your ministers--as I think you call them--fail and no

longer enjoy your support, do you not send them bowstrings?"

"Never," I said. "They go out of office, but--"

"And they do not disembowel themselves on their retirement?

Have they not that privilege?"

"Never!" I said. "What an idea!"

"The ways of the infidel." said the little Sultan, calmly

resuming his pipe, "are beyond the compass of the true

intelligence of the Faithful. Yet I thought it was so

even as here. I had read in your newspapers that after

your last election your ministers were buried alive--buried

under a landslide, was it not? We thought it--here in

Turkey--a noble fate for them."

"They crawled out," I said.

"Ishmillah!" ejaculated Abdul. "But go, Toomuch. And

listen, thou also--for in spite of all thou hast served

me well--shalt have a bowstring."

"Oh, master, master," cried Toomuch, falling on his knees

in gratitude and clutching the sole of Abdul's slipper.

"It is too kind!"

"Nay, nay," said the Sultan. "Thou hast deserved it. And

I will go further. This stranger, too, my governess, this

professor, bring also for the professor a bowstring, and

a two-bladed knife! All Canada shall rejoice to hear of

it. The students shall leap up like young lambs at the

honour that will be done. Bring the knife, Toomuch; bring

the knife!"

"Abdul," I said, "Abdul, this is too much. I refuse. I

am not fit. The honour is too great."

"Not so," said Abdul. "I am still Sultan. I insist upon

it. For, listen, I have long penetrated your disguise

and your kind design. I saw it from the first. You knew

all and came to die with me. It was kindly meant. But

you shall die no common death; yours shall be the honour

of the double knife--let it be extra sharp, Toomuch--and

the bowstring."

"Abdul," I urged, "it cannot be. You forget. I have an

appointment to be thrown into the Bosphorus."

"The death of a dog! Never!" cried Abdul. "My will is

still law. Toomuch, kill him on the spot. Hit him with

the stool, throw the coffee at him--"

But at this moment there were heard loud cries and shouting

as in tones of great gladness, in the outer hall of the

palace, doors swinging to and fro and the sound of many

running feet. One heard above all the call, "It has

come! It has come!"

The Sultan looked up quickly.

"Toomuch," he said eagerly and anxiously, "quick, see

what it is. Hurry! hurry! Haste! Do not stay on ceremony.

Drink a cup of coffee, give me five cents--fifty cents,

anything--and take leave and see what it is."

But before Toomuch could reply, a turbaned attendant had

already burst in through the door unannounced and thrown

himself at Abdul's feet.

"Master! Master!" he cried. "It is here. It has come."

As he spoke he held out in one hand a huge envelope,

heavy with seals. I could detect in great letters stamped

across it the words, WASHINGTON and OFFICE OF THE SECRETARY

OF STATE.

Abdul seized and opened the envelope with trembling hands.

"It is it!" he cried. "It is sent by Smith Pasha, Minister

under the Peace of Heaven of the United States. It is

the Intervention. I am saved."

Then there was silence among us, breathless and anxious.

Abdul glanced down the missive, reading it in silence to

himself.

"Oh noble," he murmured. "Oh generous! It is too much.

Too splendid a lot!"

"What does it say?"

"Look," said the Sultan. "The United States has used its

good offices. It has intervened! All is settled. My fate

is secure."

"Yes, yes," I said, "but what is it?"

"Is it believable?" exclaimed Abdul. "It appears that

none of the belligerents cared about _me_ at all. None

had designs upon me. The war was _not_ made, as we

understood, Toomuch, as an attempt to seize my person.

All they wanted was Constantinople. Not _me_ at all!"

"Powerful Allah!" murmured Toomuch. "Why was it not so

said?"

"For me," said the Sultan, still consulting the letter,

"great honours are prepared! I am to leave Constantinople

--that is the sole condition. It shall then belong to

whoever can get it. Nothing could be fairer. It always

has. I am to have a safe conduct--is it not noble?--to

the United States. No one is to attempt to poison me--is

it not generosity itself?--neither on land nor even--mark

this especially, Toomuch--on board ship. Nor is anyone

to throw me overboard or otherwise transport me to

paradise."

"It passes belief!" murmured Toomuch Koffi. "Allah is

indeed good."

"In the United States itself," went on Abdul, "or, I

should say, themselves, Toomuch, for are they not

innumerable? I am to have a position of the highest trust,

power and responsibility."

"Is it really possible?" I said, greatly surprised.

"It is so written," said the Sultan. "I am to be placed

at the head, as the sole head or sovereign of--how is it

written?--a _Turkish Bath Establishment_ in New York.

There I am to enjoy the same freedom and to exercise just

as much--it is so written--exactly as much political

power as I do here. Is it not glorious?"

"Allah! Illallah!" cried the secretary.

"You, Toomuch, shall come with me, for there is a post

of great importance placed at my disposal--so it is

written--under the title of Rubber Down. Toomuch, let

our preparations be made at once. Notify Fatima and

Falloola. Those two alone shall go, for it is a Christian

country and I bow to its prejudices. Two, I understand,

is the limit. But we must leave at once."

The Sultan paused a moment and then looked at me.

"And our good friend here," he added, "we must leave to

get out of this Yildiz Kiosk by whatsoever magic means

he came into it."

Which I did.

And I am assured, by those who know, that the intervention

was made good and that Abdul and Toomuch may be seen to

this day, or to any other day, moving to and fro in their

slippers and turbans in their Turkish Bath Emporium at

the corner of Broadway and--

But stop; that would be saying too much, especially as

Fatima and Falloola occupy the upstairs.

And it is said that Abdul has developed a very special

talent for heating up the temperature for his Christian

customers.

Moreover, it is the general opinion that, whether or not

the Kaiser and such people will get their deserts, Abdul

Aziz has his.