Winsome Winnie and other New Nonsense Novels

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All through the happy time that has followed, I like to think that
through all our trials and difficulties affliction brought us safely
together at last.

III

THE SPLIT IN THE CABINET

OR, THE FATE OF ENGLAND

(_A political novel of the Days that Were_)

_III.--The Split in the Cabinet; or, The Fate of England._

CHAPTER I

"The fate of England hangs upon it," murmured Sir John Elphinspoon, as
he sank wearily into an armchair. For a moment, as he said "England,"
the baronet's eye glistened and his ears lifted as if in defiance, but
as soon as he stopped saying it his eye lost its brilliance and his ears
dropped wearily at the sides of his head.

Lady Elphinspoon looked at her husband anxiously. She could not conceal
from herself that his face, as he sank into his chair, seemed somehow
ten years older than it had been ten years ago.

"You are home early, John?" she queried.

"The House rose early, my dear," said the baronet.

"For the All England Ping-Pong match?"

"No, for the Dog Show. The Prime Minister felt that the Cabinet ought to
attend. He said that their presence there would help to bind the
colonies to us. I understand also that he has a pup in the show himself.
He took the Cabinet with him."

"And why not you?" asked Lady Elphinspoon.

"You forget, my dear," said the baronet, "as Foreign Secretary my
presence at a Dog Show might be offensive to the Shah of Persia. Had it
been a Cat Show----"

The baronet paused and shook his head in deep gloom.

"John," said his wife, "I feel that there is something more. Did
anything happen at the House?"

Sir John nodded.

"A bad business," he said. "The Wazuchistan Boundary Bill was read this
afternoon for the third time."

No woman in England, so it was generally said, had a keener political
insight than Lady Elphinspoon.

"The third time," she repeated thoughtfully, "and how many more will it
have to go?"

Sir John turned his head aside and groaned.

"You are faint," exclaimed Lady Elphinspoon, "let me ring for tea."

The baronet shook his head.

"An egg, John--let me beat you up an egg."

"Yes, yes," murmured Sir John, still abstracted, "beat it, yes, do beat
it."

Lady Elphinspoon, in spite of her elevated position as the wife of the
Foreign Secretary of Great Britain, held it not beneath her to perform
for her husband the plainest household service. She rang for an egg. The
butler broke it for her into a tall goblet filled with old sherry, and
the noble lady, with her own hands, beat the stuff out of it. For the
veteran politician, whose official duties rarely allowed him to eat, an
egg was a sovereign remedy. Taken either in a goblet of sherry or in a
mug of rum, or in half a pint of whisky, it never failed to revive his
energies.

The effect of the egg was at once visible in the brightening of his eye
and the lengthening of his ears.

"And now explain to me," said his wife, "what has happened. What _is_
this Boundary Bill?"

"We never meant it to pass," said Sir John. "It was introduced only as a
sop to public opinion. It delimits our frontier in such a way as to
extend our suzerainty over the entire desert of El Skrub. The Wazoos
have claimed that this is their desert. The hill tribes are restless. If
we attempt to advance the Wazoos will rise. If we retire it deals a blow
at our prestige."

Lady Elphinspoon shuddered. Her long political training had taught her
that nothing was so fatal to England as to be hit in the prestige.

"And on the other hand," continued Sir John, "if we move sideways, the
Ohulis, the mortal enemies of the Wazoos, will strike us in our rear."

"In our rear!" exclaimed Lady Elphinspoon in a tone of pain. "Oh, John,
we must go forward. Take another egg."

"We cannot," groaned the Foreign Secretary. "There are reasons which I
cannot explain even to you, Caroline, reasons of State, which absolutely
prevent us from advancing into Wazuchistan. Our hands are tied. Meantime
if the Wazoos rise, it is all over with us. It will split the Cabinet."

"Split the Cabinet!" repeated Lady Elphinspoon in alarm. She well knew
that next to a blow in the prestige the splitting of the Cabinet was
about the worst thing that could happen to Great Britain. "Oh, John,
they _must_ be held together at all costs. Can nothing be done?"

"Everything is being done that can be. The Prime Minister has them at
the Dog Show at this moment. To-night the Chancellor is taking them to
moving pictures. And to-morrow--it is a State secret, my dear, but it
will be very generally known in the morning--we have seats for them all
at the circus. If we can hold them together all is well, but if they
split we are undone. Meantime our difficulties increase. At the very
passage of the Bill itself a question was asked by one of the new labour
members, a miner, my dear, a quite uneducated man----"

"Yes?" queried Lady Elphinspoon.

"He asked the Colonial Secretary"--Sir John shuddered--"to tell him
where Wazuchistan is. Worse than that, my dear," added Sir John, "he
defied him to tell him where it is."

"What did you do? Surely he has no right to information of that sort?"

"It was a close shave. Luckily the Whips saved us. They got the
Secretary out of the House and rushed him to the British Museum. When he
got back he said that he would answer the question a month from Friday.
We got a great burst of cheers, but it was a close thing. But stop, I
must speak at once with Powers. My despatch box, yes, here it is. Now
where is young Powers? There is work for him to do at once."

"Mr. Powers is in the conservatory with Angela," said Lady Elphinspoon.

"With Angela!" exclaimed Sir John, while a slight shade of displeasure
appeared upon his brow. "With Angela again! Do you think it quite
proper, my dear, that Powers should be so constantly with Angela?"

"John," said his wife, "you forget, I think, who Mr. Powers is. I am
sure that Angela knows too well what is due to her rank, and to herself,
to consider Mr. Powers anything more than an instructive companion. And
I notice that, since Mr. Powers has been your secretary, Angela's mind
is much keener. Already the girl has a wonderful grasp on foreign
policy. Only yesterday I heard her asking the Prime Minister at luncheon
whether we intend to extend our Senegambian protectorate over the
Fusees. He was delighted."

"Oh, very well, very well," said Sir John. Then he rang a bell for a
manservant.

"Ask Mr. Powers," he said, "to be good enough to attend me in the
library."

CHAPTER II

Angela Elphinspoon stood with Perriton Powers among the begonias of the
conservatory. The same news which had so agitated Sir John lay heavy on
both their hearts.

"Will the Wazoo rise?" asked Angela, clasping her hands before her,
while her great eyes sought the young man's face and found it. "Oh, Mr.
Powers! Tell me, will they rise? It seems too dreadful to contemplate.
Do you think the Wazoo will rise?"

"It is only too likely," said Powers. They stood looking into one
another's eyes, their thoughts all on the Wazoo.

Angelina Elphinspoon, as she stood there against the background of the
begonias, made a picture that a painter, or even a plumber, would have
loved. Tall and typically English in her fair beauty, her features, in
repose, had something of the hauteur and distinction of her mother, and
when in motion they recalled her father.

Perriton Powers was even taller than Angela. The splendid frame and
stern features of Sir John's secretary made him a striking figure. Yet
he was, quite frankly, sprung from the people, and made no secret of it.
His father had been simply a well-to-do London surgeon, who had been
knighted for some mere discoveries in science. His grandfather, so it
was whispered, had been nothing more than a successful banker who had
amassed a fortune simply by successful banking. Yet at Oxford young
Powers had carried all before him. He had occupied a seat, a front seat,
in one of the boats, had got his blue and his pink, and had taken a
double final in Sanscrit and Arithmetic.

He had already travelled widely in the East, spoke Urdu and Hoodoo with
facility, while as secretary to Sir John Elphinspoon, with a seat in the
House in prospect, he had his foot upon the ladder of success.

"Yes," repeated Powers thoughtfully, "they may rise. Our confidential
despatches tell us that for some time they have been secretly passing
round packets of yeast. The whole tribe is in a ferment."

"But our sphere of influence is at stake," exclaimed Angela.

"It is," said Powers. "As a matter of fact, for over a year we have been
living on a mere _modus vivendi_."

"Oh, Mr. Powers," cried Angela, "what a way to live."

"We have tried everything," said the secretary. "We offered the Wazoo a
condominium over the desert of El Skrub. They refused it."

"But it's our desert," said Angela proudly.

"It is. But what can we do? The best we can hope is that El Boob will
acquiesce in the _status quo_."

At that moment a manservant appeared in the doorway of the conservatory.

"Mr. Powers, sir," he said, "Sir John desires your attendance, sir, in
the library, sir."

Powers turned to Angela, a new seriousness upon his face.

"Miss Elphinspoon," he said, "I think I know what is coming. Will you
wait for me here? I shall be back in half an hour."

"I will wait," said the girl. She sat down and waited among the
begonias, her mind still on the Wazoo, her whole intense nature strung
to the highest pitch. "Can the _modus vivendi_ hold?" she murmured.

In half an hour Powers returned. He was wearing now his hat and light
overcoat, and carried on a strap round his neck a tin box with a white
painted label, "_British Foreign Office. Confidential Despatches. This
Side Up With Care._"

"Miss Elphinspoon," he said, and there was a new note in his voice,
"Angela, I leave England to-night----"

"To-night!" gasped Angela.

"On a confidential mission."

"To Wazuchistan!" exclaimed the girl.

Powers paused a moment. "To Wazuchistan," he said, "yes. But it must not
be known. I shall return in a month--or never. If I fail"--he spoke with
an assumed lightness--"it is only one more grave among the hills. If I
succeed, the Cabinet is saved, and with it the destiny of England."

"Oh, Mr. Powers," cried Angela, rising and advancing towards him, "how
splendid! How noble! No reward will be too great for you."

"My reward," said Powers, and as he spoke he reached out and clasped
both of the girl's hands in his own, "yes, my reward. May I come and
claim it here?"

For a moment he looked straight into her eyes. In the next he was gone,
and Angela was alone.

"His reward!" she murmured. "What could he have meant? His reward that
he is to claim. What can it be?"

But she could not divine it. She admitted to herself that she had not
the faintest idea.

CHAPTER III

In the days that followed all England was thrilled to its base as the
news spread that the Wazoo might rise at any moment.

"Will the Wazoos rise?" was the question upon every lip.

In London men went to their offices with a sense of gloom. At lunch they
could hardly eat. A feeling of impending disaster pervaded all ranks.

Sir John as he passed to and fro to the House was freely accosted in the
streets.

"Will the Wazoos rise, sir?" asked an honest labourer. "Lord help us
all, sir, if they do."

Sir John, deeply touched, dropped a shilling in the honest fellow's hat,
by accident.

At No. 10 Downing Street, women of the working class, with children in
their arms, stood waiting for news.

On the Exchange all was excitement. Consols fell two points in
twenty-four hours. Even raising the Bank rate and shutting the door
brought only a temporary relief.

Lord Glump, the greatest financial expert in London, was reported as
saying that if the Wazoos rose England would be bankrupt in forty-eight
hours.

Meanwhile, to the consternation of the whole nation, the Government did
nothing. The Cabinet seemed to be paralysed.

On the other hand the Press became all the more clamorous. The London
_Times_ urged that an expedition should be sent at once. Twenty-five
thousand household troops, it argued, should be sent up the Euphrates or
up the Ganges or up something without delay. If they were taken in flat
boats, carried over the mountains on mules, and lifted across the rivers
in slings, they could then be carried over the desert on jackasses. They
could reach Wazuchistan in two years. Other papers counselled
moderation. The _Manchester Guardian_ recalled the fact that the Wazoos
were a Christian people. Their leader, El Boob, so it was said, had
accepted Christianity with childlike simplicity and had asked if there
was any more of it. The _Spectator_ claimed that the Wazoos, or more
properly the Wazi, were probably the descendants of an Iranic or perhaps
Urgumic stock. It suggested the award of a Rhodes Scholarship. It looked
forward to the days when there would be Wazoos at Oxford. Even the
presence of a single Wazoo, or, more accurately, a single Wooz, would
help.

With each day the news became more ominous. It was reported in the Press
that a Wazoo, inflamed apparently with _ghee_, or perhaps with _bhong_,
had rushed up to the hills and refused to come down. It was said that
the Shriek-el-Foozlum, the religious head of the tribe, had torn off his
suspenders and sent them to Mecca.

That same day the _Illustrated London News_ published a drawing "Wazoo
Warriors Crossing a River and Shouting, Ho!" and the general
consternation reached its height.

Meantime, for Sir John and his colleagues, the question of the hour
became, "Could the Cabinet be held together?" Every effort was made. The
news that the Cabinet had all been seen together at the circus, for a
moment reassured the nation. But the rumour spread that the First Lord
of the Admiralty had said that the clowns were a bum lot. The Radical
Press claimed that if he thought so he ought to resign.

On the fatal Friday the question already referred to was scheduled for
its answer. The friends of the Government counted on the answer to
restore confidence. To the consternation of all, the expected answer was
not forthcoming. The Colonial Secretary rose in his place, visibly
nervous. Ministers, he said, had been asked where Wazuchistan was. They
were not prepared, at the present delicate stage of negotiations, to
say. More hung upon the answer than Ministers were entitled to divulge.
They could only appeal to the patriotism of the nation. He could only
say this, that _wherever_ it was, and he used the word _wherever_ with
all the emphasis of which he was capable, the Government would accept
the full responsibility for its being where it was.

The House adjourned in something like confusion.

Among those seated behind the grating of the Ladies' Gallery was Lady
Elphinspoon. Her quick instinct told her the truth. Driving home, she
found her husband seated, crushed, in his library.

"John," she said, falling on her knees and taking her husband's hands
in hers, "is this true? Is this the dreadful truth?"

"I see you have divined it, Caroline," said the statesman sadly. "It is
the truth. We don't know where Wazuchistan is."

For a moment there was silence.

"But, John, how could it have happened?"

"We thought the Colonial Office knew. We were confident that they knew.
The Colonial Secretary had stated that he had been there. Later on it
turned out that he meant Saskatchewan. Of course they thought _we_ knew.
And we both thought that the Exchequer must know. We understood that
they had collected a hut tax for ten years."

"And hadn't they?"

"Not a penny. The Wazoos live in tents."

"But, surely," pleaded Lady Elphinspoon, "you could find out. Had you no
maps?"

Sir John shook his head.

"We thought of that at once, my dear. We've looked all through the
British Museum. Once we thought we had succeeded. But it turned out to
be Wisconsin."

"But the map in the _Times_? Everybody saw it."

Again the baronet shook his head. "Lord Southcliff had it made in the
office," he said. "It appears that he always does. Otherwise the
physical features might not suit him."

"But could you not send some one to see?"

"We did. We sent Perriton Powers to find out where it was. We had a
month to the good. It was barely time, just time. Powers has failed and
we are lost. To-morrow all England will guess the truth and the
Government falls."

CHAPTER IV

The crowd outside of No. 10 Downing Street that evening was so dense
that all traffic was at a standstill. But within the historic room where
the Cabinet were seated about the long table all was calm. Few could
have guessed from the quiet demeanour of the group of statesmen that the
fate of an Empire hung by a thread.

Seated at the head of the table, the Prime Minister was quietly looking
over a book of butterflies, while waiting for the conference to begin.
Beside him the Secretary for Ireland was fixing trout flies, while the
Chancellor of the Exchequer kept his serene face bent over upon his
needlework. At the Prime Minister's right, Sir John Elphinspoon, no
longer agitated, but sustained and dignified by the responsibility of
his office, was playing spillikins.

The little clock on the mantel chimed eight.

The Premier closed his book of butterflies.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I fear our meeting will not be a protracted
one. It seems we are hopelessly at variance. You, Sir Charles," he
continued, turning to the First Sea Lord, who was in attendance, "are
still in favour of a naval expedition?"

"Send it up at once," said Sir Charles.

"Up where?" asked the Premier.

"Up anything," answered the Old Sea Dog, "it will get there."

Voices of dissent were raised in undertones around the table.

"I strongly deprecate any expedition," said the Chancellor of the
Exchequer, "I favour a convention with the Shriek. Let the Shriek sign a
convention recognizing the existence of a supreme being and receiving
from us a million sterling in acknowledgment."

"And where will you _find_ the Shriek?" said the Prime Minister. "Come,
come, gentlemen, I fear that we can play this comedy no longer. The
truth is," he added with characteristic nonchalance, "we don't know
where the bally place is. We can't meet the House to-morrow. We are
hopelessly split. Our existence as a Government is at an end."

But, at that very moment, a great noise of shouting and clamour rose
from the street without. The Prime Minister lifted his hand for silence.
"Listen," he said. One of the Ministers went to a window and opened it,
and the cries outside became audible. "A King's Messenger! Make way for
the King's Messenger!"

The Premier turned quietly to Sir John.

"Perriton Powers," he said.

In another moment Perriton Powers stood before the Ministers.

Bronzed by the tropic sun, his face was recognizable only by the assured
glance of his eye. An Afghan _bernous_ was thrown back from his head and
shoulders, while his commanding figure was draped in a long _chibuok_. A
pair of pistols and a curved _yasmak_ were in his belt.

"So you got to Wazuchistan all right," said the Premier quietly.

"I went in by way of the Barooda," said Powers. "For many days I was
unable to cross it. The waters of the river were wild and swollen with
rains. To cross it seemed certain death----"

"But at last you got over," said the Premier, "and then----"

"I struck out over the Fahuri desert. For days and days, blinded by the
sun, and almost buried in sand, I despaired."

"But you got through it all right. And after that?"

"My first care was to disguise myself. Staining myself from head to
foot with betel nut----"

"To look like a beetle," said the Premier. "Exactly. And so you got to
Wazuchistan. Where is it and what is it?"

"My lord," said Powers, drawing himself up and speaking with emphasis,
"I got to where it was thought to be. There is no such place!"

The whole Cabinet gave a start of astonishment.

"No such place!" they repeated.

"What about El Boob?" asked the Chancellor.

"There is no such person."

"And the Shriek-el-Foozlum?"

Powers shook his head.

"But do you mean to say," said the Premier in astonishment, "that there
are no Wazoos? There you _must_ be wrong. True we don't just know where
they are. But our despatches have shown too many signs of active trouble
traced directly to the Wazoos to disbelieve in them. There are Wazoos
somewhere, there--there _must_ be."

"The Wazoos," said Powers, "are there. But they are Irish. So are the
Ohulis. They are both Irish."

"But how the devil did they get out there?" questioned the Premier. "And
why did they make the trouble?"

"The Irish, my lord," interrupted the Chief Secretary for Ireland, "are
everywhere, and it is their business to make trouble."

"Some years ago," continued Powers, "a few Irish families settled out
there. The Ohulis should be properly called the O'Hooleys. The word
Wazoo is simply the Urdu for McGinnis. El Boob is the Urdu for the
Arabic El Papa, the Pope. It was my knowledge of Urdu, itself an
agglutinative language----"

"Precisely," said the Premier. Then he turned to his Cabinet. "Well,
gentlemen, our task is now simplified. If they are Irish, I think we
know exactly what to do. I suppose," he continued, turning to Powers,
"that they want some kind of Home Rule."

"They do," said Powers.

"Separating, of course, the Ohuli counties from the Wazoo?"

"Yes," said Powers.

"Precisely; the thing is simplicity itself. And what contribution will
they make to the Imperial Exchequer?"

"None."

"And will they pay their own expenses?"

"They refuse to."

"Exactly. All this is plain sailing. Of course they must have a
constabulary. Lord Edward," continued the Premier, turning now to the
Secretary of War, "how long will it take to send in a couple of hundred
constabulary? I think they'll expect it, you know. It's their right."

"Let me see," said Lord Edward, calculating quickly, with military
precision, "sending them over the Barooda in buckets and then over the
mountains in baskets--I think in about two weeks."

"Good," said the Premier. "Gentlemen, we shall meet the House to-morrow.
Sir John, will you meantime draft us an annexation bill? And you, young
man, what you have done is really not half bad. His Majesty will see you
to-morrow. I am glad that you are safe."

"On my way home," said Powers, with quiet modesty, "I was attacked by a
lion----"

"But you beat it off," said the Premier. "Exactly. Good night."

CHAPTER V

It was on the following afternoon that Sir John Elphinspoon presented
the Wazoo Annexation Bill to a crowded and breathless House.

Those who know the House of Commons know that it has its moods. At times
it is grave, earnest, thoughtful. At other times it is swept with
emotion which comes at it in waves. Or at times, again, it just seems to
sit there as if it were stuffed.

But all agreed that they had never seen the House so hushed as when Sir
John Elphinspoon presented his Bill for the Annexation of Wazuchistan.
And when at the close of a splendid peroration he turned to pay a
graceful compliment to the man who had saved the nation, and thundered
forth to the delighted ears of his listeners--

_Arma virumque cano Wazoo qui primus ab oris_,

and then, with the words "England, England," still on his lips, fell
over backwards and was carried out on a stretcher, the House broke into
wild and unrestrained applause.

CHAPTER VI

The next day Sir Perriton Powers--for the King had knighted him after
breakfast--stood again in the conservatory of the house in Carlton
Terrace.

"I have come for my reward," he said. "Do I get it?"

"You do," said Angela.

Sir Perriton clasped her in his arms.

"On my way home," he said, "I was attacked by a lion. I tried to beat
it----"

"Hush, dearest," she whispered, "let me take you to father."

IV

WHO DO YOU THINK DID IT?

OR, THE MIXED-UP MURDER MYSTERY

(_Done after the very latest fashion in this sort of thing_)

_IV.--Who Do You Think Did It? or, The Mixed-Up Murder Mystery._

_NOTE.--Any reader who guesses correctly who did it is entitled (in all
fairness) to a beautiful gold watch and chain._

CHAPTER I

HE DINED WITH ME LAST NIGHT

The afternoon edition of the _Metropolitan Planet_ was going to press.
Five thousand copies a minute were reeling off its giant cylinders. A
square acre of paper was passing through its presses every hour. In the
huge _Planet_ building, which dominated Broadway, employes, compositors,
reporters, advertisers, surged to and fro. Placed in a single line
(only, of course, they wouldn't be likely to consent to it) they would
have reached across Manhattan Island. Placed in two lines, they would
probably have reached twice as far. Arranged in a procession they would
have taken an hour in passing a saloon: easily that.

In the whole vast building all was uproar. Telephones, megaphones and
gramophones were ringing throughout the building. Elevators flew up and
down, stopping nowhere.

Only in one place was quiet--namely, in the room where sat the big man
on whose capacious intellect the whole organization depended.

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