Barker. "Is it
possible that a man of your intelligence does not know that it is
every one's interest--"

"Don't you believe in Zoroaster? Is it possible that you neglect
Mumbo-Jumbo?" returned the King, with startling animation. "Does a man
of your intelligence come to me with these damned early Victorian
ethics? If, on studying my features and manner, you detect any
particular resemblance to the Prince Consort, I assure you you are
mistaken. Did Herbert Spencer ever convince you--did he ever convince
anybody--did he ever for one mad moment convince himself--that it must
be to the interest of the individual to feel a public spirit? Do you
believe that, if you rule your department badly, you stand any more
chance, or one half of the chance, of being guillotined, that an
angler stands of being pulled into the river by a strong pike? Herbert
Spencer refrained from theft for the same reason that he refrained
from wearing feathers in his hair, because he was an English gentleman
with different tastes. I am an English gentleman with different
tastes. He liked philosophy. I like art. He liked writing ten books on
the nature of human society. I like to see the Lord Chamberlain
walking in front of me with a piece of paper pinned to his coat-tails.
It is my humour. Are you answered? At any rate, I have said my last
serious word to-day, and my last serious word I trust for the
remainder of my life in this Paradise of Fools. The remainder of my
conversation with you to-day, which I trust will be long and
stimulating, I propose to conduct in a new language of my own by means
of rapid and symbolic movements of the left leg." And he began to
pirouette slowly round the room with a preoccupied expression.

Barker ran round the room after him, bombarding him with demands and
entreaties. But he received no response except in the new language. He
came out banging the door again, and sick like a man coming on shore.
As he strode along the streets he found himself suddenly opposite
Cicconani's restaurant, and for some reason there rose up before him
the green fantastic figure of the Spanish General, standing, as he had
seen him last, at the door, with the words on his lips, "You cannot
argue with the choice of the soul."

The King came out from his dancing with the air of a man of business
legitimately tired. He put on an overcoat, lit a cigar, and went out
into the purple night.

[Illustration: "I'M KING OF THE CASTLE."]

"I will go