“Oh, prodigious! I never thought of that. F-o-u-r thousand dollars a
day. Now I do begin to see! But will dead policemen answer?”
“Haven’t they–up to this time?”
“Well, if you put it that way–”
“Put it any way you want to. Modify it to suit yourself, and my lads
shall still be superior. They won’t eat, they won’t drink–don’t need
those things; they won’t wink for cash at gambling dens and unlicensed
rum-holes, they won’t spark the scullery maids; and moreover the bands of
toughs that ambuscade them on lonely beats, and cowardly shoot and knife
them will only damage the uniforms and not live long enough to get more
than a momentary satisfaction out of that.”
“Why, Colonel, if you can furnish policemen, then of course–”
“Certainly–I can furnish any line of goods that’s wanted. Take the
army, for instance–now twenty-five thousand men; expense, twenty-two
millions a year. I will dig up the Romans, I will resurrect the Greeks,
I will furnish the government, for ten millions a year, ten thousand
veterans drawn from the victorious legions of all the ages–soldiers that
will chase Indians year in and year out on materialized horses, and cost
never a cent for rations or repairs. The armies of Europe cost two
billions a year now–I will replace them all for a billion. I will dig
up the trained statesmen of all ages and all climes, and furnish this
country with a Congress that knows enough to come in out of the rain–
a thing that’s never happened yet, since the Declaration of Independence,
and never will happen till these practically dead people are replaced
with the genuine article. I will restock the thrones of Europe with the
best brains and the best morals that all the royal sepulchres of all the
centuries can furnish–which isn’t promising very much–and I’ll divide
the wages and the civil list, fair and square, merely taking my half
and–”
“Colonel, if the half of this is true, there’s millions in it–millions.”
“Billions in it–billions; that’s what you mean. Why, look here; the
thing is so close at hand, so imminent, so absolutely immediate, that if
a man were to come to me now and say, Colonel, I am a little short, and
if you could lend me a couple of billion dollars for– come in!”
This in answer to a knock. An energetic looking man bustled in with a
big pocket-book in his hand, took a paper from it and presented it, with
the curt remark:
“Seventeenth and last call–you want to out with that three dollars and
forty cents this time without fail, Colonel Mulberry Sellers.”
The Colonel began to slap this pocket and that one, and feel here and
there and everywhere, muttering:
“What have I done with that wallet?–let me see–um–not here, not there
–Oh, I must have left it in the kitchen; I’ll just run and–”
“No you won’t–you’ll stay right where you are. And you’re going to
disgorge, too–this time.”
Washington innocently offered to go and look. When he was gone the
Colonel said:
“The fact is, I’ve got to throw myself on your indulgence just this once
more, Suggs; you see the remittances I was expecting–”
“Hang the remittances–it’s too stale–it won’t answer. Come!”
The Colonel glanced about him in despair. Then his face lighted; he ran
to the wall and began to dust off a peculiarly atrocious chromo with his
handkerchief. Then he brought it reverently, offered it to the
collector, averted his face and said:
“Take it, but don’t let me see it go. It’s the sole remaining Rembrandt
that–”
“Rembrandt be damned, it’s a chromo.”
“Oh, don’t speak of it so, I beg you. It’s the only really great
original, the only supreme example of that mighty school of art which–”
“Art! It’s the sickest looking thing I–”
The colonel was already bringing another horror and tenderly dusting it.
“Take this one too–the gem of my collection–the only genuine Fra
Angelico that–”
“Illuminated liver–pad, that’s what it is. Give it here–good day–
people will think I’ve robbed a’ nigger barber-shop.”
As he slammed the door behind him the Colonel shouted with an anguished
accent–
Do please cover them up–don’t let the damp get at them. The delicate