He stopped, gasped, struck at the paper with his hand.
“Go on,” said Gorman. “There’s nothing very bad so far. There is a Megalian Government, I suppose?”
“But I—I am the Megalian Government,” said the King.
“It will be time enough to take up those points of constitutional law afterwards. Let’s hear what’s in the paper first.”
The King read on. His anger gave way by degrees to anxiety and perplexity.
“I cannot translate,” he said. “The English language does not contain words in which to express the damned cheek of these flounders. They say that you,” he pointed to the Queen, “and you, Donovan, and you, my friend Gorman, must go at once on the Megalian navy. It will carry you to Sicily. It will put you there in a dump, and you must embark before noon. Great Scott!”
“Oh, but that’s just silly,” said the Queen. “We shan’t take any notice of it.”
“In that case the admiral shoots,” said the King. “At noon, sharp up to time, precise.”
“Well,” said Donovan, “I guess I don’t mean to move.”
“But,” said the King, “he can shoot. The navy of Megalia has shells for its guns. It has six. I know it, for I bought them myself when I sat on that cursed throne. Six, my friends.”