The Teutons behaved rather grossly; King Ferdinand ranged the ring like a liberated wild hog and presently charged the object of his osculatory intentions—Josephine.
Probably nobody dared kiss the queen, but such respectful abstention seemed to please her none the more, for presently she hissed something into Tino's ear, and he chose her into the ring with an agility born of terror.
Once there she glared at everybody and then, with a sneer, selected Tino again, and the game, promising to become a monotony and a deadlock, I rose and, waving a leg of the chicken to impose silence, proclaimed that the games had ended and that dancing would now begin.
Raoul inserted a fox-trot of sorts; and the next instant everybody was footing it.
"Raoul," I said in a guarded voice, "did you souse those Bolsheviki in sheep-dip?"
"I did, sir."
"What did they do?"
"They made an agonizing noise, Monsieur. I fear it was, perhaps, their first bath."
"Go up and dip 'em again."
"All Bolshevikdom will shriek," he said, grinning.