Lady Elphinspoon shuddered. Her long political training had taught herthat nothing was so fatal to England as to be hit in the prestige.
"And on the other hand," continued Sir John, "if we move sideways, theOhulis, the mortal enemies of the Wazoos, will strike us in our rear."
"In our rear!" exclaimed Lady Elphinspoon in a tone of pain. "Oh, John,we must go forward. Take another egg."
"We cannot," groaned the Foreign Secretary. "There are reasons which Icannot explain even to you, Caroline, reasons of State, which absolutelyprevent us from advancing into Wazuchistan. Our hands are tied. Meantimeif the Wazoos rise, it is all over with us. It will split the Cabinet."
"Split the Cabinet!" repeated Lady Elphinspoon in alarm. She well knewthat next to a blow in the prestige the splitting of the Cabinet wasabout the worst thing that could happen to Great Britain. "Oh, John,they _must_ be held together at all costs. Can nothing be done?"
"Everything is being done that can be. The Prime Minister has them atthe Dog Show at this moment. To-night the Chancellor is taking them tomoving pictures. And to-morrow--it is a State secret, my dear, but itwill be very generally known in the morning--we have seats for them allat the circus. If we can hold them together all is well, but if theysplit we are undone. Meantime our difficulties increase. At the verypassage of the Bill itself a question was asked by one of the new labourmembers, a miner, my dear, a quite uneducated man----"
"Yes?" queried Lady Elphinspoon.
"He asked the Colonial Secretary"--Sir John shuddered--"to tell himwhere Wazuchistan is. Worse than that, my dear," added Sir John, "hedefied him to tell him where it is."
"What did you do? Surely he has no right to information of that sort?"
"It was a close shave. Luckily the Whips saved us. They got theSecretary out of the House and rushed him to the British Museum. When hegot back he said that he would answer the question a month from Friday.We got a great burst of cheers, but it was a close thing. But stop, Imust speak at once with Powers. My despatch box, yes, here it is. Nowwhere is young Powers? There is work for him to do at once."
"Mr. Powers is in the conservatory with Angela," said Lady Elphinspoon.
"With Angela!" exclaimed Sir John, while a slight shade of displeasureappeared upon his brow. "With Angela again! Do you think it quiteproper, my dear, that Powers should be so constantly with Angela?"
"John," said his wife, "you forget, I think, who Mr. Powers is. I amsure that Angela knows too well what is due to her rank, and to herself,to consider Mr. Powers anything more than an instructive companion. AndI notice that, since Mr. Powers has been your secretary, Angela's mindis much keener. Already the girl has a wonderful grasp on foreignpolicy. Only yesterday I heard her asking the Prime Minister at luncheonwhether we intend to extend our Senegambian protectorate over theFusees. He was delighted."
"Oh, very well, very well," said Sir John. Then he rang a bell for amanservant.
"Ask Mr. Powers," he said, "to be good enough to attend me in thelibrary."
CHAPTER II
Angela Elphinspoon stood with Perriton Powers among the begonias of theconservatory. The same news which had so agitated Sir John lay heavy onboth their hearts.
"Will the Wazoo rise?" asked Angela, clasping her hands before her,while her great eyes sought the young man's face and found it. "Oh, Mr.Powers! Tell me, will they rise? It seems too dreadful to contemplate.Do you think the Wazoo will rise?"
"It is only too likely," said Powers. They stood looking into oneanother's eyes, their thoughts all on the Wazoo.
Angelina Elphinspoon, as she stood there against the background of thebegonias, made a picture that a painter, or even a plumber, would haveloved. Tall and typically English in her fair beauty, her features, inrepose, had something of the hauteur and distinction of her mother, andwhen in motion they recalled her father.
Perriton Powers was even taller than Angela. The splendid frame andstern features of Sir John's secretary made him a striking figure. Yethe was, quite frankly, sprung from the people, and made no secret of it.His father had been simply a well-to-do London surgeon, who had beenknighted for some mere discoveries in science. His grandfather, so itwas whispered, had been nothing more than a successful banker who hadamassed a fortune simply by successful banking. Yet at Oxford youngPowers had carried all before him. He had occupied a seat, a front seat,in one of the boats, had got his blue and his pink, and had taken adouble final in Sanscrit and Arithmetic.
He had already travelled widely in the East, spoke Urdu and Hoodoo withfacility, while as secretary to Sir John Elphinspoon, with a seat in theHouse in prospect, he had his foot upon the ladder of success.
"Yes," repeated Powers thoughtfully, "they may rise. Our confidentialdespatches tell us that for some time they have been secretly passinground packets of yeast. The whole tribe is in a ferment."
"But our sphere of influence is at stake," exclaimed Angela.
"It is," said Powers. "As a matter of fact, for over a year we have beenliving on a mere _modus vivendi_."
"Oh, Mr. Powers," cried Angela, "what a way to live."
"We have tried everything," said the secretary. "We offered the Wazoo acondominium over the desert of El Skrub. They refused it."
"But it's our desert," said Angela proudly.
"It is. But what can we do? The best we can hope is that El Boob willacquiesce in the _status quo_."
At that moment a manservant appeared in the doorway of the conservatory.
"Mr. Powers, sir," he said, "Sir John desires your attendance, sir, inthe library, sir."
Powers turned to Angela, a new seriousness upon his face.
"Miss Elphinspoon," he said, "I think I know what is coming. Will youwait for me here? I shall be back in half an hour."
"I will wait," said the girl. She sat down and waited among thebegonias, her mind still on the Wazoo, her whole intense nature strungto the highest pitch. "Can the _modus vivendi_ hold?" she murmured.
In half an hour Powers returned. He was wearing now his hat and lightovercoat, and carried on a strap round his neck a tin box with a whitepainted label, "_British Foreign Office. Confidential Despatches. ThisSide Up With Care._"
"Miss Elphinspoon," he said, and there was a new note in his voice,"Angela, I leave England to-night----"
"To-night!" gasped Angela.
"On a confidential mission."
"To Wazuchistan!" exclaimed the girl.
Powers paused a moment. "To Wazuchistan," he said, "yes. But it must notbe known. I shall return in a month--or never. If I fail"--he spoke withan assumed lightness--"it is only one more grave among the hills. If Isucceed, the Cabinet is saved, and with it the destiny of England."
"Oh, Mr. Powers," cried Angela, rising and advancing towards him, "howsplendid! How noble! No reward will be too great for you."
"My reward," said Powers, and as he spoke he reached out and claspedboth of the girl's hands in his own, "yes, my reward. May I come andclaim it here?"
For a moment he looked straight into her eyes. In the next he was gone,and Angela was alone.
"His reward!" she murmured. "What could he have meant? His reward thathe is to claim. What can it be?"
But she could not divine it. She admitted to herself that she had notthe faintest idea.
CHAPTER III
In the days that followed all England was thrilled to its base as thenews spread that the Wazoo might rise at any moment.
"Will the Wazoos rise?" was the question upon every lip.
In London men went to their offices with a sense of gloom. At lunch theycould hardly eat. A feeling of impending disaster pervaded all ranks.
Sir John as he passed to and fro to the House was freely accosted in thestreets.
"Will the Wazoos rise, sir?" asked an honest labourer. "Lord help usall, sir, if they do."
Sir John, deeply touched, dropped a shilling in the honest fellow's hat,by accident.
At No. 10 Downing Street, women of the working class, with child
ren intheir arms, stood waiting for news.
On the Exchange all was excitement. Consols fell two points intwenty-four hours. Even raising the Bank rate and shutting the doorbrought only a temporary relief.
Lord Glump, the greatest financial expert in London, was reported assaying that if the Wazoos rose England would be bankrupt in forty-eighthours.
Meanwhile, to the consternation of the whole nation, the Government didnothing. The Cabinet seemed to be paralysed.
On the other hand the Press became all the more clamorous. The London_Times_ urged that an expedition should be sent at once. Twenty-fivethousand household troops, it argued, should be sent up the Euphrates orup the Ganges or up something without delay. If they were taken in flatboats, carried over the mountains on mules, and lifted across the riversin slings, they could then be carried over the desert on jackasses. Theycould reach Wazuchistan in two years. Other papers counselledmoderation. The _Manchester Guardian_ recalled the fact that the Wazooswere a Christian people. Their leader, El Boob, so it was said, hadaccepted Christianity with childlike simplicity and had asked if therewas any more of it. The _Spectator_ claimed that the Wazoos, or moreproperly the Wazi, were probably the descendants of an Iranic or perhapsUrgumic stock. It suggested the award of a Rhodes Scholarship. It lookedforward to the days when there would be Wazoos at Oxford. Even thepresence of a single Wazoo, or, more accurately, a single Wooz, wouldhelp.
With each day the news became more ominous. It was reported in the Pressthat a Wazoo, inflamed apparently with _ghee_, or perhaps with _bhong_,had rushed up to the hills and refused to come down. It was said thatthe Shriek-el-Foozlum, the religious head of the tribe, had torn off hissuspenders and sent them to Mecca.
That same day the _Illustrated London News_ published a drawing "WazooWarriors Crossing a River and Shouting, Ho!" and the generalconsternation reached its height.
Meantime, for Sir John and his colleagues, the question of the hourbecame, "Could the Cabinet be held together?" Every effort was made. Thenews that the Cabinet had all been seen together at the circus, for amoment reassured the nation. But the rumour spread that the First Lordof the Admiralty had said that the clowns were a bum lot. The RadicalPress claimed that if he thought so he ought to resign.
On the fatal Friday the question already referred to was scheduled forits answer. The friends of the Government counted on the answer torestore confidence. To the consternation of all, the expected answer wasnot forthcoming. The Colonial Secretary rose in his place, visiblynervous. Ministers, he said, had been asked where Wazuchistan was. Theywere not prepared, at the present delicate stage of negotiations, tosay. More hung upon the answer than Ministers were entitled to divulge.They could only appeal to the patriotism of the nation. He could onlysay this, that _wherever_ it was, and he used the word _wherever_ withall the emphasis of which he was capable, the Government would acceptthe full responsibility for its being where it was.
The House adjourned in something like confusion.
Among those seated behind the grating of the Ladies' Gallery was LadyElphinspoon. Her quick instinct told her the truth. Driving home, shefound her husband seated, crushed, in his library.
"John," she said, falling on her knees and taking her husband's handsin hers, "is this true? Is this the dreadful truth?"
"I see you have divined it, Caroline," said the statesman sadly. "It isthe truth. We don't know where Wazuchistan is."
For a moment there was silence.
"But, John, how could it have happened?"
"We thought the Colonial Office knew. We were confident that they knew.The Colonial Secretary had stated that he had been there. Later on itturned out that he meant Saskatchewan. Of course they thought _we_ knew.And we both thought that the Exchequer must know. We understood thatthey had collected a hut tax for ten years."
"And hadn't they?"
"Not a penny. The Wazoos live in tents."
"But, surely," pleaded Lady Elphinspoon, "you could find out. Had you nomaps?"
Sir John shook his head.
"We thought of that at once, my dear. We've looked all through theBritish Museum. Once we thought we had succeeded. But it turned out tobe Wisconsin."
"But the map in the _Times_? Everybody saw it."
Again the baronet shook his head. "Lord Southcliff had it made in theoffice," he said. "It appears that he always does. Otherwise thephysical features might not suit him."
"But could you not send some one to see?"
"We did. We sent Perriton Powers to find out where it was. We had amonth to the good. It was barely time, just time. Powers has failed andwe are lost. To-morrow all England will guess the truth and theGovernment falls."
CHAPTER IV
The crowd outside of No. 10 Downing Street that evening was so densethat all traffic was at a standstill. But within the historic room wherethe Cabinet were seated about the long table all was calm. Few couldhave guessed from the quiet demeanour of the group of statesmen that thefate of an Empire hung by a thread.
Seated at the head of the table, the Prime Minister was quietly lookingover a book of butterflies, while waiting for the conference to begin.Beside him the Secretary for Ireland was fixing trout flies, while theChancellor of the Exchequer kept his serene face bent over upon hisneedlework. At the Prime Minister's right, Sir John Elphinspoon, nolonger agitated, but sustained and dignified by the responsibility ofhis office, was playing spillikins.
The little clock on the mantel chimed eight.
The Premier closed his book of butterflies.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I fear our meeting will not be a protractedone. It seems we are hopelessly at variance. You, Sir Charles," hecontinued, turning to the First Sea Lord, who was in attendance, "arestill in favour of a naval expedition?"
"Send it up at once," said Sir Charles.
"Up where?" asked the Premier.
"Up anything," answered the Old Sea Dog, "it will get there."
Voices of dissent were raised in undertones around the table.
"I strongly deprecate any expedition," said the Chancellor of theExchequer, "I favour a convention with the Shriek. Let the Shriek sign aconvention recognizing the existence of a supreme being and receivingfrom us a million sterling in acknowledgment."
"And where will you _find_ the Shriek?" said the Prime Minister. "Come,come, gentlemen, I fear that we can play this comedy no longer. Thetruth is," he added with characteristic nonchalance, "we don't knowwhere the bally place is. We can't meet the House to-morrow. We arehopelessly split. Our existence as a Government is at an end."
But, at that very moment, a great noise of shouting and clamour rosefrom the street without. The Prime Minister lifted his hand for silence."Listen," he said. One of the Ministers went to a window and opened it,and the cries outside became audible. "A King's Messenger! Make way forthe King's Messenger!"
The Premier turned quietly to Sir John.
"Perriton Powers," he said.
In another moment Perriton Powers stood before the Ministers.
Bronzed by the tropic sun, his face was recognizable only by the assuredglance of his eye. An Afghan _bernous_ was thrown back from his head andshoulders, while his commanding figure was draped in a long _chibuok_. Apair of pistols and a curved _yasmak_ were in his belt.
"So you got to Wazuchistan all right," said the Premier quietly.
"I went in by way of the Barooda," said Powers. "For many days I wasunable to cross it. The waters of the river were wild and swollen withrains. To cross it seemed certain death----"
"But at last you got over," said the Premier, "and then----"
"I struck out over the Fahuri desert. For days and days, blinded by thesun, and almost buried in sand, I despaired."
"But you got through it all right. And after that?"
"My first care was to disguise myself. Staining myself from head tofoot with betel nut----"
"To look like a beetle," said the Premier. "Exactly. And so you got toWazuchistan. Where is it and
what is it?"
"My lord," said Powers, drawing himself up and speaking with emphasis,"I got to where it was thought to be. There is no such place!"
The whole Cabinet gave a start of astonishment.
"No such place!" they repeated.
"What about El Boob?" asked the Chancellor.
"There is no such person."
"And the Shriek-el-Foozlum?"
Powers shook his head.
"But do you mean to say," said the Premier in astonishment, "that thereare no Wazoos? There you _must_ be wrong. True we don't just know wherethey are. But our despatches have shown too many signs of active troubletraced directly to the Wazoos to disbelieve in them. There are Wazoossomewhere, there--there _must_ be."
"The Wazoos," said Powers, "are there. But they are Irish. So are theOhulis. They are both Irish."
"But how the devil did they get out there?" questioned the Premier. "Andwhy did they make the trouble?"
"The Irish, my lord," interrupted the Chief Secretary for Ireland, "areeverywhere, and it is their business to make trouble."
"Some years ago," continued Powers, "a few Irish families settled outthere. The Ohulis should be properly called the O'Hooleys. The wordWazoo is simply the Urdu for McGinnis. El Boob is the Urdu for theArabic El Papa, the Pope. It was my knowledge of Urdu, itself anagglutinative language----"
"Precisely," said the Premier. Then he turned to his Cabinet. "Well,gentlemen, our task is now simplified. If they are Irish, I think weknow exactly what to do. I suppose," he continued, turning to Powers,"that they want some kind of Home Rule."
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