“And who are in it?”

“Ourselves, and the Armenians—­and let me see—­the Irish, are they not, Toomuch—­and the Bulgarians—­are there any others, Toomuch?”

“There is talk,” said the Secretary “of the Yugo-Hebrovians and the Scaroovians—­”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” said Abdul, testily.  “They wrote to us.  They seem all right.  Haven’t you got a lot of people in your league that you never heard of?”

“I see,” I said, “and what is the scheme that your league is formed on?”

“Very simple,” said the Sultan.  “Each member of the league gives its word to all the other members.  Then they all take an oath together.  Then they all sign it.  That is absolutely binding.”

He rolled back on his cushions in an evident state of boredom and weariness.

“But surely,” I protested, “you don’t think that a league of that sort can keep the peace?”

“Peace!” exclaimed Abdul waking into sudden astonishment.  “Peace!  I should think not!  Our league is for war.  Every member gives its word that at the first convenient opportunity it will knock the stuff out of any of the others that it can.”

The little Sultan again subsided.  Then he rose, with some difficulty, from his cushions.

“Toomuch,” he said, “take our inquisitive friend out into the town; take him to the Bosphorous; take him to the island where the dogs are; take him anywhere.”  He paused to whisper a few instructions into the ear of the Secretary.  “You understand,” he said, “well, take him.  As for me,”—­he gave a great yawn as he shuffled away, “I am about to withdraw into my Inner Harem.  Goodbye.  I regret that I cannot invite you in.”

“So do I,” I said.  “Goodbye.”

IV.—­Echoes of the War

1.—­The Boy Who Came Back

The war is over.  The soldiers are coming home.  On all sides we are assured that the problem of the returned soldier is the gravest of our national concerns.

So I may say it without fear of contradiction,—­since everybody else has seen it,—­that, up to the present time, the returned soldier is a disappointment.  He is not turning out as he ought.  According to all the professors of psychology he was to come back bloodthirsty and brutalised, soaked in militarism and talking only of slaughter.  In fact, a widespread movement had sprung up, warmly supported by the business men of the cities, to put him on the land.  It was thought that central Nevada or northern Idaho would do nicely for him.  At the same time an agitation had been started among the farmers, with the slogan “Back to the city,” the idea being that farm life was so rough that it was not fair to ask the returned soldier to share it.

All these anticipations turn out to be quite groundless.