the
fleet is high and dry. The ships are boarded over and
painted to look like German inns and breweries. Prinz
Adelbert is disguised as a brewer, Admiral von Tirpitz
is made up as a head waiter, Prince Heinrich is a bar
tender, the sailors are dressed up as chambermaids. And
some day when Jellicoe and his men are coaxed ashore,
they will drop in to drink a glass of beer, and then--pouf!
we will explode them all with a single torpedo! Such is
the naval strategy of our scientists! Are we not a nation
of sailors?"

Von Boobenstein's manner had grown still wilder and more
hysterical. There was a queer glitter in his eyes.

I thought it better to soothe him.

"I see," I said, "the Allies are beaten. One might as
well spin a coin for heads or tails to see whether we
abandon England now or wait till you come and take it."

As I spoke, I took from my pocket an English sovereign
that I carry as a lucky-piece, and prepared to spin it
in the air.

Von Boobenstein, as he saw it, broke into a sort of hoarse
shriek.

"Gold! gold!" he cried. "Give it to me!"

"What?" I exclaimed.

"A piece of gold," he panted. "Give it to me, give it to
me, quick. I know a place where we can buy bread with it.
Real bread--not tickets--food--give me the gold--gold--for
bread--we can get-bread. I am starving--gold--bread."

And as he spoke his hoarse voice seemed to grow louder
and louder in my ears; the sounds of the street were
hushed; a sudden darkness fell; and a wind swept among
the trees of the _Alley of Victory_--moaning--and a
thousand, a myriad voices seemed to my ear to take up
the cry:

"Gold! Bread! We are starving."

Then I woke up.

XII. Abdul Aziz has His:
An Adventure in the Yildiz Kiosk

"Come, come, Abdul," I said, putting my hand, not unkindly,
on his shoulder, "tell me all about it."

But he only broke out into renewed sobbing.

"There, there," I continued soothingly. "Don't cry, Abdul.
Look! Here's a lovely narghileh for you to smoke, with
a gold mouthpiece. See! Wouldn't you like a little latakia,
eh? And here's a little toy Armenian--look! See his head
come off--snick! There, it's on again, snick! now it's
off! look, Abdul!"

But still he sobbed.

His fez had fallen over his ears and his face was all
smudged with tears.

It seemed impossible to stop him.

I looked about in vain from the little alcove of the hall
of the Yildiz Kiosk where we were sitting on a Persian
bench under a lem