Czar—Yes, yes, I know. Your creditors are pressing you, and all that. And you’ll promptly repay the loan—in a Golden Horn. I’ve heard it before.
Sultan—By the toe-nails of the Prophet! if I get not the money, that dog of darkness, the American President, will be after me with a sharp stick; and he’ll do, and he’ll do, and he’ll do! He has already delivered his ultimatum.
Czar—What! Is it so serious as that? My poor friend, I am sorry for you. You are in for it, sure! In American diplomacy the ultimatum is a prophecy of doom; you will be talked to death!
Sultan—Then lend me the money.
Czar—It is decreed otherwise. Kismet.
Sultan—But what am I to do? Talked to death!—that is disagreeable.
Czar—Build a mosque in which to pray that Heaven may put it into his heart to send a fleet to Constantinople and commute your punishment to bombardment.
Sultan—May jackals whelp in his harem!—that is what he says he will do.
Czar—Build two mosques.