“No thank you,” said Gorman, “but if you could see your way to starting a few munition works in Upper Offaly, my constituency, you know. The people are getting discontented, and I’m not at all sure that they’ll return me at the next election unless something is done for them now.”
“You shall have an aeroplane factory,” said Sir Bartholomew, “two in fact. I think I may safely promise two—and shells—would your people care for making shells?”
The plan worked out exceedingly well. The pendant which Madame Ypsilante received was very handsome. It contained fourteen stones of unusual size set in circles of small diamonds. She was delighted, and thoroughly understood what was expected of her. A Government engineer went down to Upper Offaly, and secured, at enormous expense, sites for three large factories. The men who leased the land were greatly pleased, everyone else looked forward to a period of employment at very high wages, and Gorman became very popular even among the extreme Sinn Feiners. Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton went about London, purring with satisfaction like a large cat, and promising sensational events in the Near East which would rapidly bring the war to an end. Only King Konrad Karl was a little sad.
“Gorman, my friend,” he said, “I go back to that thrice damned country and I die. They will hang me by the neck until I am dead as a door mat.”
“They may not,” said Gorman. “You can’t be certain.”
“You do not know Megalia,” said the king. “It is sure, Gorman, what you would call a dead shirt. But Corinne, my beloved Corinne, says ‘Go. Be a king once more.’ And I—I am a blackguard, Gorman. I know it. I am not respectable. I know it. But I am a lover. I am capable of a great passion. I wave my hand. I smile. I kiss Corinne. I face the tune of the band. I say ‘Behold, damn it, and Great Scott!—at the bidding of Corinne, I die.’”
“If I were you,” said Gorman, “I’d conscript every able-bodied man in the country directly I got there and put the entire lot into a front line trench. There won’t be anyone left to assassinate you then.”
“Alas! There are the Generals and the Staff. It is not possible, Gorman, even in Megalia, to put the Staff into a trench, and that is enough. One General only and his Staff. They come to the palace. They say ‘In the name of the Republic, so that the world may be safe for democracy—’ and then—! There is a rope. There is a flag staff. I float in the air. They cheer. I am dead. I know it. But it is for Corinne. Good.”
It was in this mood of chivalrous high romance that the king received Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton. Gorman was present during the interview. He had made a special effort, postponing an important engagement, in order to hear what was said. He expected to be interested and amused. He was not disappointed.
Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton was at his very best. He made a long speech about the sacred cause of European civilisation, and the supremely important part which the King of Megalia was called upon to play in securing victory and lasting peace. He also talked about the rights of small nationalities. King Konrad Karl rose to the same level of lofty sentiment in his reply. He went further than Sir Bartholomew for he talked about democracy in terms which were affectionate, a rather surprising thing for a monarch whose power, when he had it, was supposed to be absolute.