“Let us have mercy upon them, master,” said the hypocritical Nicht Wahr, devoutly crossing his breast. “They are but children. This is but a child’s toy, as I told you. We must not kill children.” His tenderness appealed strongly to the admiral.
“No, nor cats,” answered Ruhet, at once convinced, “for both are unlucky. Especially for the children and cats—ha, ha! And, anyhow, I am getting hungrier every minute. That water is saline, I suppose. It makes one thirst. Go ahead. Hang the toy—I’m done wanting it.”
Now the cunning Nicht Wahr noticed that the little craft had broken out several flags of extremely sanguinary red, and he knew that he would be asked what it meant.
To beguile the admiral while he thought of some explanation he said: “Master, I have heard that near this spring of water there is another from which runs soup. Beautiful—thick—soup!”
Ruhet at once turned from the little craft—forgetting all about it—and shouted, “Where?”
But meanwhile the cunning Wahr had whispered to the much less cunning Nicht, “What do you suppose all that red means?”
Now, Nicht was one of those persons who are wiser than they seem. More there be who seem wiser than they are—including the apparently learned Wahr. But not of that sort was Nicht. Nicht was simple, yet learned.
“Sir,” he said, saluting, “that is a declaration of war. All savage nations use red to declare war.”
“What is all that red?” asked Ruhet, at this very moment. At once Wahr turned to Ruhet, as if he had got it all out of himself, and said, “Sire, that means war!”
“War?” cried Ruhet. “A dare? Ho! ho! ho!”