Further Foolishness by Stephen Leacock (best self help books to read .TXT) 📗
- Author: Stephen Leacock
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"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.
XIII. In Merry Mexico
I stood upon the platform of the little deserted railway station of the frontier and looked around at the wide prospect. "So this," I said to myself, "is Mexico!"
About me was the great plain rolling away to the Sierras in the background. The railroad track traversed it in a thin line. There were no trees—only here and there a clump of cactus or chaparral, a tuft of dog-grass or a few patches of dogwood. At intervals in the distance one could see a hacienda standing in majestic solitude in a cup of the hills. In the blue sky floated little banderillos of white cloud, while a graceful hidalgo appeared poised on a crag on one leg with folded wings, or floated lazily in the sky on one wing with folded legs.
There was a drowsy buzzing of cicadas half asleep in the cactus cups, and, from some hidden depth of the hills far in the distance, the tinkling of a mule bell.
I had seen it all so often in moving pictures that I recognised the scene at once.
"So this is Mexico?" I repeated.
The station building beside me was little more than a wooden shack. Its door was closed. There was a sort of ticket wicket opening at the side, but it too was closed.
But as I spoke thus aloud, the wicket opened. There appeared in it the head and shoulders of a little wizened man, swarthy and with bright eyes and pearly teeth.
He wore a black velvet suit with yellow facings, and a tall straw hat running to a point. I seemed to have seen him a hundred times in comic opera.
"Can you tell me when the next train—?" I began.
The little man made a gesture of Spanish politeness.
"Welcome to Mexico!" he said.
"Could you tell me—?" I continued.
"Welcome to our sunny Mexico!" he repeated—"our beautiful, glorious Mexico. Her heart throbs at the sight of you."
"Would you mind—?" I began again.
"Our beautiful Mexico, torn and distracted as she is, greets you. In the name of the de facto government, thrice welcome. Su casa!" he added with a graceful gesture indicating the interior of his little shack. "Come in and smoke cigarettes and sleep. Su casa! You are capable of Spanish, is it not?"
"No," I said, "it is not. But I wanted to know when the next train for the interior—"
"Ah!" he rejoined more briskly. "You address me as a servant of the de facto government. Momentino! One moment!"
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