"How do I know you speak truth?" demanded the Dictator, with a furious blare of the megaphone.
"Test me, Your Abysmal Excellency. If you will agree to my terms, I will restore the ventilation at any moment you stipulate."
"You talk like a madman!" barked my opponent through his megaphone. And then, after a moment's hesitation, "Still, there can be no harm in hearing your offer. If you do not keep your promise, there will always be time for punishment. What are your terms?"
For a moment I did not answer. I stood staring at the Dictator intently and was moved almost to pity for this contemptible being, with his shrivelled limbs and artificial organs. Nevertheless, I picked my words with the utmost caution, for I could see the guards behind me still creeping forward by inches, while my own followers made way before them; and I knew that the success or failure of my venture might depend upon my next utterance.
I knew that the success or failure of my venture might depend upon my next utterance.
"Your Abysmal Excellency," I began, "according to all reports, you have ruled long and notably. You have performed great services for the First Class and for your country. But it is not fair that any man, however willing, be harnessed too long with the yoke of state. After a time, his shoulders should be relieved of the burden, so that he may enjoy the pleasures of private life. It is for this reason, Your Abysmal Excellency—"
At this point, my speech was rudely halted. A blast of the Dictator's megaphone rang through the audience-chamber as shrilly as a cry for help. And Thuno Flâtum, straining forward with quivering form and face that turned all colors from white to purple, staggered out of his seat in his rage, shook his midget fist at me, and collapsed.