Professor von Glauben, seated in his own sanctum, and engaged in the continuance of his “Political History of Hunger,” found many points in the immediate situation which considerably interested him and moved him to philosophical meditation.
“For,—take the feeling of the People as it now is,” he said to himself; “It starts in Hunger! The taxes,—the uncomfortable visit of the tax-gatherer! The price of the loaf,—concerning which the baker, or the baker-ess, politely tells the customer that it is costly, because of the Government tax on corn; then from the bread, it is marvellous how the little clue winds upward through the spider-webs of Trade. The butcher’s meat is dearer,—for says he—‘The tax on corn makes it necessary for me to increase the price of meat.’ There is no logical reason given,—the fact simply is! So that Hunger commences the warfare,—Hunger of Soul, as well as Hunger of body. ‘Why starve my thought?’ says Soul. ‘Why tax my bread?’ says Body. These tiresome questions continue to be asked, and never answered,—but answers are clamoured for, and the people complain—and then one fierce day the gods hear them grumble, and begin to grumble back! Ach! Then it is thunder with a vengeance! Now in my own so-beloved Fatherland, there has been this double grumbling for a long time. And that the storm will burst, in spite of the so-excellently-advertising Kaiser is evident! Hoch!—or Ach? Which should it be to salute the Kaiser! I know not at all,—but I admit it is clever of him to put up a special Hoarding-announcement for the private view of the Almighty God, each time he addresses his troops! And he will come in for a chapter of my history—for he also is Hungry!—he would fain eat a little of the loaf of Britain!—yes!—he will fit into my work very well for the instruction of the helpless unborn generations!”
He wrote on for a while, and then laid down his pen. His eyes grew dreamy, and his rough features softened.
“What has become of the child, I wonder!” he mused; “Where has she gone, the ‘Glory-of-the-Sea’! I would give all I have to look upon her beautiful face again;—and Ronsard—he, poor soul—silent as a stone, weakening day after day in the grasp of relentless age,—would die happy,—if I would let him! But I do not intend to give him that satisfaction. He shall live! As I often tell him, my science is of no avail if I cannot keep a man going, till at least a hundred and odd years are past. Barring accidents, or self-slaughter, of course!” Here he became somewhat abstracted in his meditations. “The old fellow is brave enough,—brave as a lion, and strong too for his years;—I have seen him handle a pair of oars and take down a sail as I could never do it,—and—he has accepted a strange and difficult situation heroically. ‘You must not be involved in any trouble by a knowledge of our movements.’ So Prince Humphry said, when I saw him last,—though I did not then understand the real drift of his meaning. And time goes on—and time seems wearisome without any tidings of those we love!”
A tap at the door disturbed his mental soliloquy, and in answer to his ‘Come in,’ Sir Roger de Launay entered.
“Sorry to interrupt work, Professor!” he said briefly; “The King goes to the Opera this evening, and desires you to be of the party.”
“Good! I shall obey with more pleasure than I have obeyed some of his Majesty’s recent instructions!” And the Professor pushed aside his manuscript to look through his spectacled eyes at the tall equerry’s handsome face and figure. “You have a healthy appearance, Roger! Your complexion speaks of an admirable digestion!”
De Launay smiled.
“You think so? Well! Your professional approval is worth having!” He paused, then went on; “The party will be a pleasant one to-night. The King is in high spirits.”
“Ah!” And Von Glauben’s monosyllable spoke volumes.