Part 19 (2/2)

”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 cus.h.i.+ons 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 n.o.body 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 ma.s.sacres--me and the diplomats, all with stars and orders, and me in my white fez with a copper ta.s.sel--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 ma.s.sacre them just the same. We shall insist, in the terms of peace, on retaining our rights of ma.s.sacre. But then, no doubt, all the nations will.”

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