“But if Germany once got control of the Near East,” I objected, “she could impose her own restrictions.”

The consul frowned.  “Armenians who thrive in spite of Turks—­”

“Would skin a German for hide and tallow,” nodded Will.

“Exactly.  Germany would object vigorously if we or the States should land marines to prevent the Turks from applying the favorite remedy, vukuart -that means events, you know—­their euphemism for massacre at rather frequent intervals.  Germany would rather see the Turks finish the dirty work thoroughly than have it to do herself later on.”

“You mean,” said I, “that the German government is inciting to massacre?”

“Hardly.  There are German missionaries in the country, doing good work in a funny, fussy, rigorous fashion of their own.  They’d raise a dickens of a hocus-pocus back in Germany if they once suspected their government of playing that game.  No.  But Germany intends to stand off the other powers, while Turks tackle the Armenians; and the Turks know that.”

“But what’s the immediate excuse for massacre?” demanded Fred.

The consul laughed.

“All that’s needed is a spark.  The Armenians haven’t been tactful.  They don’t hesitate to irritate the Turks—­not that you can blame them, but it isn’t wise.  Most of the money-lenders are Armenians; Turks won’t engage in that business themselves on religious grounds, but they’re ready borrowers, and the Armenian money-lenders, who are in a very small minority, of course, are grasping and give a bad name to the whole nation.  Then, Armenians have been boasting openly that one of these days the old Armenian kingdom will be reestablished.  The Turks are conquerors, you know, and don’t like that kind of talk.  If the Armenians could only keep from quarreling among themselves they could win their independence in half a jiffy, but the Turks are deadly wise at the old trick of divide et impera; they keep the Armenians quarreling, and nobody dares stand in with them because sooner—­or later—­sooner, probably—­they’ll split among themselves, and leave their friends high and dry.  You can’t blame ’em.  The Turks know enough to play on their religious prejudices and set one sect against another.  When the massacres begin scarcely an Armenian will know who is friend and who enemy.”

“D’you mean to say,” demanded Fred, “that they’re going to be shot like bottles off a wall without rhyme or reason?”

“That’s how it was before,” said the consul.  “There’s nothing to stop it.  The world is mistaken about Armenians.  They’re a hot-blooded lot on the whole, with a deep sense of national pride, and a hatred of Turkish oppression that rankles.  One of these mornings a Turk will choose his Armenian and carefully insult the man’s wife or daughter.  Perhaps he will crown it by throwing dirt in the fellow’s face.  The Armenian will kill him or try to, and there you are.  Moslem blood shed by a dog of a giaour—­the old excuse!”