Further Foolishness by Stephen Leacock (best self help books to read .TXT) 📗
- Author: Stephen Leacock
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Rapturous expressions of approval greeted Mr. Bryan's explanation.
"But I don't understand," said the Negro President, turning his puzzled face to Mr. Bryan. "Would some of these ships be British ships?"
"Oh, certainly. In view of the dominant size of the British Navy about one-quarter of all the ships would be British ships."
"And the sailors British sailors?"
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Bryan, "except that they would be wearing international breeches—a most important point."
"And if the Board, made up of all sorts of people, were to give a decision against England, then these ships—British ships with British sailors—would be sent to bombard England itself."
"Exactly," said Mr. Bryan. "Isn't it beautifully simple? And to guarantee its working properly," he continued, "just in case we have to use the fleet against England, we're going to ask Admiral Jellicoe himself to take command."
The Negro President slowly shook his head.
"Marse Bryan," he said, "you notice what I say. I know Marse Jellicoe. I done seen him lots of times when he was just a lieutenant, down in the harbour of Port au Prince. If youse folks put up this proposition to Marse Jellicoe, he'll just tell the whole lot of you to go plumb to—"
But the close of the sentence was lost by a sudden interruption. A servant entered with a folded telegram in his hand.
"For me?" said Mr. Bryan, with a winning smile.
"For the President of Haiti, sir," said the man.
The President took the telegram and opened it clumsily with his finger and thumb amid a general silence. Then he took from his pocket and adjusted a huge pair of spectacles with a horn rim and began to read.
"Well, I 'clare to goodness!" he said.
"Who is it from ?" said Mr. Bryan. "Is it anything about me?"
The Negro President shook his head.
"It's from Haiti," he said, "from my military secretary."
"Read it, read it," cried the company.
"Come back home right away," read out the Negro President, word by word. "Everything is all right again. Joint British and American Naval Squadron came into harbour yesterday, landed fifty bluejackets and one midshipman. Perfect order. Banks open. Bars open. Mule cars all running again. Things fine. Going to have big dance at your palace. Come right back."
The Negro President paused.
"Gentlemen," he said, in a voice of great and deep relief, "this lets me out. I guess I won't stay for the rest of the discussion. I'll start for Haiti. I reckon there's something in this Armed Force business after all."
XV. The White House from Without In
Being Extracts from the Diary of a President of the United States.
MONDAY. Rose early. Swept out the White House. Cooked breakfast. Prayers. Sat in the garden reading my book on Congressional Government. What a wonderful thing it is! Why doesn't Congress live up to it? Certainly a lovely morning. Sat for some time thinking how beautiful the world is. I defy anyone to make a better. Afterwards determined to utter this defiance publicly and fearlessly. Shall put in list of fearless defiances for July speeches. Shall probably use it in Oklahoma.
9.30 a.m. Bad news. British ship Torpid torpedoed by a torpedo. Tense atmosphere all over Washington. Retreated instantly to the pigeon-house and shut the door. I must think. At all costs. And no one shall hurry me.
10 a.m. Have thought. Came out of pigeon-house. It is all right. I wonder I didn't think of it sooner. The point is perfectly simple. If Admiral Tirpitz torpedoed the Torpid with a torpedo, where's the torpedo Admiral Tirpitz torped? In other words, how do they know it's a torpedo? The idea seems absolutely overwhelming. Wrote notes at once to England and to Germany.
11 a.m. Gave out my idea to the Ass Press. Tense feeling at Washington vanished instantly and utterly. Feeling now loose. In fact everything splendid. Money became easy at once. Marks rose. Exports jumped. Gold reserve swelled.
3 p.m. Slightly bad news. Appears there is trouble in the Island of Piccolo Domingo. Looked it up on map. Is one of the smaller West Indies. We don't own it. I imagine Roosevelt must have overlooked it. An American has been in trouble there: was refused a drink after closing time and burnt down saloon. Is now in jail. Shall send at once our latest battleship—the Woodrow—new design, both ends alike, escorted by double-ended coal barges the Wilson, the President, the Professor and the Thinker. Shall take firm stand on American rights. Piccolo Domingo must either surrender the American alive, or give him to us dead.
TUESDAY. A lovely day. Rose early. Put flowers in all the vases. Laid a wreath of early japonica beside my egg-cup on the breakfast table. Cabinet to morning prayers and breakfast. Prayed for better guidance.
9 a.m. Trouble, bad trouble. First of all Roosevelt has an interview in the morning papers in which he asks why I don't treat Germany as I treat Piccolo Domingo. Now, what a fool question! Can't he see why? Roosevelt never could see reason. Bryan also has an interview: wants to know why I don't treat Piccolo Domingo as I treat Germany? Doesn't he know why?
Result: strained feeling in Washington. Morning mail bad.
10 a.m. British Admiralty communication. To the pigeon-house at once. They offer to send piece of torpedo, fragment of ship and selected portions of dead American citizens.
Have come out of pigeon-house. Have cabled back: How do they know it is a torpedo, how do they know it is a fragment, how do they know he was an American who said he was dead?
My answer has helped. Feeling in Washington easier at once. General buoyancy. Loans and discounts doubled.
As I expected—a note from Germany. Chancellor very explicit. Says not only did they not torpedo the Torpid, but that on the day (whenever it was) that the steamer was torpedoed they had no submarines at sea, no torpedoes in their submarines, and nothing really explosive in their torpedoes. Offers, very kindly, to fill in the date of sworn statement as soon as we furnish accurate date of incident. Adds that his own theory is that the Torpid was sunk by somebody throwing rocks at it from the shore. Wish, somehow, that he had not added this argument.
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