encompass a union with their kinsfolk will not
remain any longer in an attitude of dependence on the Great Powers or on
Russia, but will go their own ways . . . The blood that has been poured
forth to-day gives for the first time a genuine tone to the purple of the
Balkan Kings. The Great Powers cannot overlook the fact that a people
that has tasted victory will not let itself be driven back again within
its former limits. Turkey has lost to-day not only Kirk Kilisseh and
Kumanovo, but Macedonia also."

Luitpold Wolkenstein drank his coffee, but the flavour had somehow gone
out of it. His world, his pompous, imposing, dictating world, had
suddenly rolled up into narrower dimensions. The big purses and the big
threats had been pushed unceremoniously on one side; a force that he
could not fathom, could not comprehend, had made itself rudely felt. The
august Caesars of Mammon and armament had looked down frowningly on the
combat, and those about to die had not saluted, had no intention of
saluting. A lesson was being imposed on unwilling learners, a lesson of
respect for certain fundamental principles, and it was not the small
struggling States who were being taught the lesson.

Luitpold Wolkenstein did not wait for the quorum of domino players to
arrive. They would all have read the article in the _Freie Presse_. And
there are moments when an oracle finds its greatest salvation in
withdrawing itself from the area of human questioning.

THE CUPBOARD OF THE YESTERDAYS

"War is a cruelly destructive thing," said the Wanderer, dropping his
newspaper to the floor and staring reflectively into space.

"Ah, yes, indeed," said the Merchant, responding readily to what seemed
like a safe platitude; "when one thinks of the loss of life and limb, the
desolated homesteads, the ruined--"

"I wasn't thinking of anything of the sort," said the Wanderer; "I was
thinking of the tendency that modern war has to destroy and banish the
very elements of picturesqueness and excitement that are its chief excuse
and charm. It is like a fire that flares up brilliantly for a while and
then leaves everything blacker and bleaker than before. After every
important war in South-East Europe in recent times there has been a
shrinking of the area of chronically disturbed territory, a stiffening of
the area of chronically disturbed territory, a stiffening of frontier
lines, an intrusion of civilised monotony. And imagine what may ha