A Maker of History | Page 3

curling upwards
from a score or so of houses about half a mile distant. The Englishman
was getting pleased with himself. Outside was a weird-looking carriage,
and on the box seat, fast asleep, was a very fat man in a shiny hat,
ornamented by a bunch of feathers. He pointed to the luggage, then to
the cab, and finally to the village.
"Luggage, hotel, carriage!" he suggested.
The station-master beamed all over. With a shout, which must have
reached the village, he awakened the sleeping man. In less than five
minutes the Englishman and his luggage were stored away in the
carriage. His ticket had been examined by the station-master, and

smilingly accepted. There were more bows and salutes, and the carriage
drove off. Mr. Guy Poynton leaned back amongst the mouldy leather
upholstery, and smiled complacently.
"Easiest thing in the world to get on in a foreign country with a phrase
book and your wits," he remarked to himself. "Jove, I am hungry!"
He drove into a village of half a dozen houses or so, which reminded
him of the pictured abodes of Noah and his brethren. An astonished
innkeeper, whose morning attire apparently consisted of trousers, shirt,
and spectacles, ushered him into a bare room with a trestle table. Guy
produced his phrase book.
"Hungry!" he said vociferously. "Want to eat! Coffee!"
The man appeared to understand, but in case there should have been
any mistake Guy followed him into the kitchen. The driver, who had
lost no time, was already there, with a long glass of beer before him.
Guy produced a mark, laid it on the table, touched himself, the
innkeeper, and the driver, and pointed to the beer. The innkeeper
understood, and the beer was good.
The driver, who had been of course ludicrously over-paid, settled down
in his corner, and announced his intention of seeing through to the end
this most extraordinary and Heaven-directed occurrence. The innkeeper
and his wife busied themselves with the breakfast, and Guy made
remarks every now and then from his phrase book, which were usually
incomprehensible, except when they concerned a further supply of beer.
With a brave acceptance of the courtesies of the country he had
accepted a cigar from the driver, and was already contemplating the
awful moment when he would have to light it. Just then an interruption
came.
It was something very official, but whether military or of the police
Guy could not tell. It strode into the room with clanking of spurs, and
the driver and innkeeper alike stood up in respect. It saluted Guy. Guy
took off his hat. Then there came words, but Guy was busy with his
phrase book.

"I cannot a word of German speak!" he announced at last.
A deadlock ensued. The innkeeper and the driver rushed into the breach.
Conversation became furious. Guy took advantage of the moment to
slip the cigar into his pocket, and to light a cigarette. Finally, the officer
swung himself round, and departed abruptly.
"Dolmetscher," the driver announced to him triumphantly.
"Dolmetscher," the innkeeper repeated.
Guy turned it up in his phrase book, and found that it meant interpreter.
He devoted himself then to stimulating the preparations for breakfast.
The meal was ready at last. There were eggs and ham and veal,
dark-colored bread, and coffee, sufficient for about a dozen people. The
driver constituted himself host, and Guy, with a shout of laughter, sat
down where he was, and ate. In the midst of the meal the officer
reappeared, ushering in a small wizened-faced individual of
unmistakably English appearance. Guy turned round in his chair, and
the newcomer touched his forelock.
"Hullo!" Guy exclaimed. "You're English!"
"Yes, sir!" the man answered. "Came over to train polo ponies for the
Prince of Haepsburg. Not in any trouble, I hope, sir?"
"Not I," Guy answered cheerily. "Don't mind my going on with my
breakfast, do you? What's it all about? Who's the gentleman with the
fireman's helmet on, and what's he worrying about?"
"He is an officer of the police, sir, on special service," the man
answered. "You have been reported for trespassing on the State railway
this morning."
"Trespassing be blowed!" Guy answered. "I've got my ticket for the
frontier. We were blocked by signal about half a dozen miles off this
place, and I got down to stretch my legs. I understood them to say that

we could not go on for half an hour or so. They never tried to stop my
getting down, and then off they went without any warning, and left me
there."
"I will translate to the officer, sir," the man said.
"Right!" Guy declared. "Go ahead."
There was a brisk colloquy between the two. Then the little man began
again.
"He says that your train passed here at midnight,