How I succeeded in getting this interview I should very much like to know. But I did. Let that suffice.
When I entered He was standing before His mirror fumbling with His moustache, which seemed unwilling any more to point upwards, but had a persistent droop. "Donner und blitzen!" He exclaimed irascibly as he added more and more stiffening paste.
Observing me He paused and sat down, motioning me to do the same. Then, after taking a tablespoonful of the blood-and-iron tonic in a bottle beside Him, He bade me be quick with my questions as He was busy.
I explained my visit at once. "It says in the paper," I said, "that your Majesty's troops are being withdrawn from the North of Belgium."
He nodded.
"And that," I continued, "the province of Antwerp is free of them."
He nodded again.
"But," I said, "surely that is a mistake—an error both of tactics and judgment of the greatest seriousness?"
"How?" He asked.
"This chastisement of the world," I said, "which you are to inflict———"
He smiled agreement.
"This spread of Geist———" I continued.
He beamed.
"How can it be thorough if you shirk your duty?" I added.
He bade me explain myself more fully.
"Take Louvain," I said, "as a start. That was splendid."
"Wasn't it?" He replied. "Hoch!"
"That's the way," I continued. "Destroy the gems of architecture. Burn the priceless and unique manuscripts. Wreck the seats of learning. That will teach the world what you really mean, what you really stand for."
His eyes glistened. "We do our best," He said. "Hoch!"
"But why be half-hearted?" I went on. "That's the folly. It seems to me that some one among your generals must be blundering very badly if Antwerp is to be so scandalously neglected. The lesson that it might teach if properly handled! The enormous value of its example to those parts of the civilised world that are still on the fence!—Holland, for instance, Italy, Bulgaria."
"But the blunder? For God's sake—I should say for My sake—tell Me quickly," He said with his hand on the telephone.
I drew from my pocket a packet of picture postcards and showed him one.
"How beautiful!" He said. "Where is it?"
"Antwerp Cathedral," I replied.
"What a lovely spire!" He remarked wistfully. "So tall and slender. It looks as if it would fall so easily."
I showed Him another.
"That is charming," He said. "Where is that?"
"Antwerp again," I said. "The Plantin museum. The most interesting printing establishment in the world. So quiet, so serene—in short, perfect and irreplaceable."
The last word seemed to strike Him.
He repeated it once or twice.
"And these are at Antwerp?" He asked again.
"Yes," I said. "And these"—showing Him more photographs—"are at Bruges. And," I added meaningly, "still standing."
"Yes, you are right," He exclaimed. "It is outrageous. What fool ordered the withdrawal from Belgium, I wonder—with all this work for culture still to do!"
He was furious.
"Not a stone should have been left," He said. "The true Geist must prevail. Every opportunity of proving our enlightenment should have been taken. There will be trouble over this, I can promise you. Leave me now. I must think."
He turned again to the blood-and-iron tonic, and was once more at the mirror when I left. His moustaches had come undone again. Both ends now pointed resolutely to the carpet.
Turkey. "Looks very tempting and fruity; but what I want to know is, who's going to pay the doctor's bill if complications ensue?"
For business reasons I had to take my holiday alone this year, after my wife and children had come back from Cornwall.
While I was away Peggy wrote to me and said that Evangeline, her favourite Minorca, had laid eleven eggs. Whereupon she, Evangeline, had become broody and refused to be comforted; so Peggy said she had added two eggs that Clara, one of the Cochins, had laid and was saving up, and put them under Evangeline, who had sat on the lot for the regulation period, the result being ten of the dearest little fluffy chickens you ever saw. My first reflection was that there they were, ten of them, eating the bread of idleness, and in war-time, too, with so many other more useful mouths to fill.
But Peggy's last paragraph was consoling. She informed her father that she intended to collar some of the alien trade, and had made a good start with her ten chickens, in addition to the three Minorcas, five Cochins, and two Pedigree-unknowns, which were all laying eggs like anything. Another of the Cochins, Maud Eliza, was beginning to get broody, and was being trained for her sitting Marathon on a box of my best golf-balls, and altogether things looked rosy—from Peggy's point of view.
I replied by return of post that she was really trying to ruin a neutral Denmark, and that to compete with the hated foe she must induce Evangeline, Clara & Co. to turn their attention to laying sausages, the brass collars of electric-light bulbs, toys and small hardware; but, so as not to discourage her, I added that the chickens would make splendid table-decorations later on, and would keep down Williamson's absurd bills for meat.
I came home yesterday; and after tea Peggy presented me with a sheet of paper covered with figures—a set of multiplication sums in fact. There was a column for each of the hens and their possible offsprings, and the grand total, expressed in terms of chickens, was stupendous.
"What," she said, "is a chicken worth when it's ready to cook?"
"It depends," I said, "whether you are buying or selling it."
"Selling," she said.
"Oh; say 2s. 6d."
"Then to be on the safe side," she
