A Desert Drama | Page 7

when she forces her way into the house of an Arab. 'Come out,' says the
world. 'Certainly,' says England; 'just wait one little minute until I have
made everything nice and proper.' So the world waits for a year or so,
and then it says once again, 'Come out.' 'Just wait a little,' says England;
'there is trouble at Khartoum, and when I have set that all right I shall
be very glad to come out.' So they wait until it is all over, and then
again they say, 'Come out.' 'How can I come out,' says England, 'when
there are still raids and battles going on? If we were to leave, Egypt
would be run over.' 'But there are no raids,' says the world. 'Oh, are
there not?' says England, and then within a week sure enough the
papers are full of some new raid of Dervishes. We are not all blind,
Mister Headingly. We understand very well how such things can be
done. A few Bedouins, a little backsheesh, some blank cartridges, and,
behold--a raid!"
"Well, well," said the American, "I'm glad to know the rights of this
business, for it has often puzzled me. But what does England get out of
it?"
"She gets the country, monsieur."
"I see. You mean, for example, that there is a favourable tariff for
British goods?"

"No, monsieur; it is the same for all."
"Well, then, she gives the contracts to Britishers?"
"Precisely, monsieur."
"For example, the railroad that they are building right through the
country, the one that runs alongside the river, that would be a valuable
contract for the British?"
Monsieur Fardet was an honest man, if an imaginative one.
"It is a French company, monsieur, which holds the railway contract,"
said he.
The American was puzzled.
"They don't seem to get much for their trouble," said he. "Still, of
course, there must be some indirect pull somewhere. For example,
Egypt no doubt has to pay and keep all those red-coats in Cairo."
"Egypt, monsieur! No, they are paid by England."
"Well, I suppose they know their own business best, but they seem to
me to take a great deal of trouble, and to get mighty little in exchange.
If they don't mind keeping order and guarding the frontier, with a
constant war against the Dervishes on their hands, I don't know why
any one should object. I suppose no one denies that the prosperity of
the country has increased enormously since they came. The revenue
returns show that. They tell me, also, that the poorer folks have justice,
which they never had before."
"What are they doing here at all?" cried the Frenchman, angrily. "Let
them go back to their island. We cannot have them all over the world."
"Well, certainly, to us Americans who live all in our own land it does
seem strange how you European nations are for ever slopping over into
some other country which was not meant for you. It's easy for us to talk,
of course, for we have still got room and to spare for all our people.

When we start pushing each other over the edge we shall have to start
annexing also. But at present just here in North Africa there is Italy in
Abyssinia, and England in Egypt, and France in Algiers----"
"France!" cried Monsieur Fardet. "Algiers belongs to France. You
laugh, monsieur. I have the honour to wish you a very good-night." He
rose from his seat, and walked off, rigid with outraged patriotism, to his
cabin.
CHAPTER II
The young American hesitated for a little, debating in his mind whether
he should not go down and post up the daily record of his impressions
which he kept for his home-staying sister. But the cigars of Colonel
Cochrane and of Cecil Brown were still twinkling in the far corner of
the deck, and the student was acquisitive in the search of information.
He did not quite know how to lead up to the matter, but the Colonel
very soon did it for him.
"Come on, Headingly," said he, pushing a camp-stool in his direction.
"This is the place for an antidote. I see that Fardet has been pouring
politics into your ear."
"I can always recognise the confidential stoop of his shoulders when he
discusses la haute politique" said the dandy diplomatist. "But what a
sacrilege upon a night like this! What a nocturne in blue and silver
might be suggested by that moon rising above the desert. There is a
movement in one of Mendelssohn's songs which seems to embody it
all,--a sense of vastness, of repetition, the cry of the wind over an
interminable expanse. The subtler emotions which cannot be translated
into words are still to be hinted at by chords and harmonies."
"It seems wilder