The Swoop! or, How Clarence Saved England: A Tale of the Great Invasion, Page 3

  "Think of a number," he cried. "Double it. Add ten. Take away thenumber you first thought of. Divide it by three, and what is theresult?"

  There was an awed silence. Surely the Russian, expert at evasion as hewas, could not parry so direct a challenge as this.

  He threw away his cigarette and lit a cigar.

  "I understand," he said, with a tinkle of defiance in his voice, "thatthe Suffragettes, as a last resource, propose to capture Mr. Asquithand sing the Suffragette Anthem to him."

  A startled gasp ran round the table.

  "Because the higher he flies, the fewer?" asked Prince Otto, withsinister calm.

  "Because the higher he flies, the fewer," said the Russian smoothly,but with the smoothness of a treacherous sea.

  There was another gasp. The situation was becoming alarmingly tense.

  "You are plain-spoken, your Highness," said Prince Otto slowly.

  At this moment the tension was relieved by the Young Turk falling offhis chair with a crash on to the floor. Everyone jumped up startled.Raisuli took advantage of the confusion to pocket a silver ash-tray.

  The interruption had a good effect. Frowns relaxed. The wranglers beganto see that they had allowed their feelings to run away with them. Itwas with a conciliatory smile that Prince Otto, filling the GrandDuke's glass, observed:

  "Trumper is perhaps the prettier bat, but I confess I admire Fry'srobust driving."

  The Russian was won over. He extended his hand.

  "Two down and three to play, and the red near the top corner pocket,"he said with that half-Oriental charm which he knew so well how toexhibit on occasion.

  The two shook hands warmly.

  And so it was settled, the Russian having, as we have seen, waived hisclaim to bombard London in his turn, there was no obstacle to apeaceful settlement. It was obvious that the superior forces of theGermans and Russians gave them, if they did but combine, the key to thesituation. The decision they arrived at was, as set forth above, asfollows. After the fashion of the moment, the Russian and Germangenerals decided to draw the Colour Line. That meant that the troops ofChina, Somaliland, Bollygolla, as well as Raisuli and the Young Turks,were ruled out. They would be given a week in which to leave thecountry. Resistance would be useless. The combined forces of theGermans, Russians, Swiss, and Monacoans were overwhelming, especiallyas the Chinese had not recovered from their wanderings in Wales andwere far too footsore still to think of serious fighting.

  When they had left, the remaining four Powers would continue theinvasion jointly.

  * * * * *

  Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig went to bed that night, comfortablyconscious of a good work well done. He saw his way now clear beforehim.

  But he had made one miscalculation. He had not reckoned with ClarenceChugwater.

  Part Two

  Chapter 1

  IN THE BOY SCOUTS' CAMP

  Night!

  Night in Aldwych!

  In the centre of that vast tract of unreclaimed prairie known toLondoners as the Aldwych Site there shone feebly, seeming almost toemphasise the darkness and desolation of the scene, a single light.

  It was the camp-fire of the Boy Scouts.

  The night was raw and windy. A fine rain had been falling for somehours. The date of September the First. For just a month England hadbeen in the grip of the invaders. The coloured section of the hostileforce had either reached its home by now, or was well on its way. Thepublic had seen it go with a certain regret. Not since the visit of theShah had such an attractive topic of conversation been afforded them.Several comic journalists had built up a reputation and a large priceper thousand words on the King of Bollygolla alone. Theatres hadbenefited by the index of a large, new, unsophisticated public. A pieceat the Waldorf Theatre had run for a whole fortnight, and "The MerryWidow" had taken on a new lease of life. Selfridge's, abandoning itspolicy of caution, had advertised to the extent of a quarter of acolumn in two weekly papers.

  Now the Young Turks were back at school in Constantinople, shufflingtheir feet and throwing ink pellets at one another; Raisuli, home againin the old mountains, was working up the kidnapping business, which hadfallen off sadly in his absence under the charge of an incompetent_locum tenens_; and the Chinese, the Bollygollans, and the troopsof the Mad Mullah were enduring the miseries of sea-sickness out inmid-ocean.

  The Swiss army had also gone home, in order to be in time for thewinter hotel season. There only remained the Germans, the Russians, andthe troops of Monaco.

  * * * * *

  In the camp of the Boy Scouts a vast activity prevailed.

  Few of London's millions realise how tremendous and far-reaching anassociation the Boy Scouts are. It will be news to the Man in theStreet to learn that, with the possible exception of the Black Hand,the Scouts are perhaps the most carefully-organised secret society inthe world.

  Their ramifications extend through the length and breadth of England.The boys you see parading the streets with hockey-sticks are but asmall section, the aristocrats of the Society. Every boy in England,and many a man, is in the pay of the association. Their funds arepractically unlimited. By the oath of initiation which he takes onjoining, every boy is compelled to pay into the common coffers apercentage of his pocket-money or his salary. When you drop his weeklythree and sixpence into the hand of your office-boy on Saturday,possibly you fancy he takes it home to mother. He doesn't. He spendtwo-and-six on Woodbines. The other shilling goes into the treasury ofthe Boy Scouts. When you visit your nephew at Eton, and tip him fivepounds or whatever it is, does he spend it at the sock-shop?Apparently, yes. In reality, a quarter reaches the common fund.

  Take another case, to show the Boy Scouts' power. You are a Citymerchant, and, arriving at the office one morning in a bad temper, youproceed to cure yourself by taking it out of the office-boy. He saysnothing, apparently does nothing. But that evening, as you are goinghome in the Tube, a burly working-man treads heavily on your goutyfoot. In Ladbroke Grove a passing hansom splashes you with mud.Reaching home, you find that the cat has been at the cold chicken andthe butler has given notice. You do not connect these things, but theyare all alike the results of your unjust behaviour to your office-boyin the morning. Or, meeting a ragged little matchseller, you pat hishead and give him six-pence. Next day an anonymous present of champagnearrives at your address.

  Terrible in their wrath, the Boy Scouts never forget kindness.

  * * * * *

  The whistle of a Striped Iguanodon sounded softly in the darkness. Thesentry, who was pacing to and fro before the camp-fire, halted, andpeered into the night. As he peered, he uttered the plaintive note of azebra calling to its mate.

  A voice from the darkness said, "Een gonyama-gonyama."

  "Invooboo," replied the sentry argumentatively "Yah bo! Yah bo!Invooboo."

  An indistinct figure moved forward.

  "Who goes there?"

  "A friend."

  "Advance, friend, and give the countersign."

  "Remember Mafeking, and death to Injuns."

  "Pass friend! All's well."

  The figure walked on into the firelight. The sentry started; thensaluted and stood to attention. On his face was a worshipping look ofadmiration and awe, such as some young soldier of the Grande Armeemight have worn on seeing Napoleon; for the newcomer was ClarenceChugwater.

  "Your name?" said Clarence, eyeing the sturdy young warrior.

  "Private William Buggins, sir."

  "You watch well, Private Buggins. England has need of such as you."

  He pinched the young Scout's ear tolerantly. The sentry flushed withpleasure.

  "My orders have been carried out?" said Clarence.

  "Yes, sir. The patrols are all here."

  "Enumerate them."

  "The Chinchilla Kittens, the Bongos, the Zebras, the Iguanodons, theWelsh Rabbits, the Snapping Turtles, and a half-patrol of the 33rdLo
ndon Gazekas, sir."

  Clarence nodded.

  "'Tis well," he said. "What are they doing?"

  "Some of them are acting a Scout's play, sir; some are doing ConeExercises; one or two are practising deep breathing; and the rest aredancing an Old English Morris Dance."

  Clarence nodded.

  "They could not be better employed. Inform them that I have arrived andwould address them."

  The sentry saluted.

  Standing in an attitude of deep thought, with his feet apart, his handsclasped behind him, and his chin sunk upon his breast, Clarence made asingularly impressive picture. He had left his Essex home three weeksbefore, on the expiration of his ten days' holiday, to return to hispost of junior sub-reporter on the staff of a leading London eveningpaper. It was really only at night now that he got any time to himself.During the day his time was his paper's, and he was compelled to spendthe weary hours reading off results of races and other sporting itemson the tape-machine. It was only at 6 p.m. that he could begin todevote himself to the service of his country.

  The Scouts had assembled now, and were standing, keen and alert, readyto do Clarence's bidding.

  Clarence returned their salute moodily.

  "Scout-master Wagstaff," he said.

  The Scout-master, the leader of the troop formed by the variouspatrols, stepped forward.

  "Let the war-dance commence."

  Clarence watched the evolutions absently. His heart was ill-attuned todances. But the thing had to be done, so it was as well to get it over.When the last movement had been completed, he raised his hand.

  "Men," he said, in his clear, penetrating alto, "although you have notthe same facilities as myself for hearing the latest news, you are all,by this time, doubtless aware that this England of ours lies 'neath theproud foot of a conqueror. It is for us to save her. (Cheers, and avoice "Invooboo!") I would call on you here and now to seize yourhockey-sticks and rush upon the invader, were it not, alas! that suchan action would merely result in your destruction. At present theinvader is too strong. We must wait; and something tells me that weshall not have to wait long. (Applause.) Jealousy is beginning tospring up between the Russians and the Germans. It will be our task toaggravate this feeling. With our perfect organisation this should beeasy. Sooner or later this smouldering jealousy is going to burst intoflame. Any day now," he proceeded, warming as he spoke, "there may bethe dickens of a dust-up between these Johnnies, and then we've got 'emwhere the hair's short. See what I mean, you chaps? It's like this. Anymoment they may start scrapping and chaw each other up, and then we'llsimply sail in and knock what's left endways."

  A shout of applause went up from the assembled scouts.

  "What I am anxious to impress upon you men," concluded Clarence, inmore measured tones, "is that our hour approaches. England looks to us,and it is for us to see that she does not look in vain. Sedulouslyfeeding the growing flame of animosity between the component parts ofthe invading horde, we may contrive to bring about that actualdisruption. Till that day, see to it that you prepare yourselves forwar. Men, I have finished."

  "What the Chief Scout means," said Scout-master Wagstaff, "is norotting about and all that sort of rot. Jolly well keep yourselves fit,and then, when the time comes, we'll give these Russian and Germanblighters about the biggest hiding they've ever heard of. Follow theidea? Very well, then. Mind you don't go mucking the show up."

  "Een gonyama-gonyama!" shouted the new thoroughly roused troops."Invooboo! Yah bo! Yah bo! Invooboo!"

  The voice of Young England--of Young England alert and at its post!

  Chapter 2

  AN IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENT

  Historians, when they come to deal with the opening years of thetwentieth century, will probably call this the Music-Hall Age. At thetime of the great invasion the music-halls dominated England. Everytown and every suburb had its Hall, most of them more than one. Thepublic appetite for sight-seeing had to be satisfied somehow, and themusic-hall provided the easiest way of doing it. The Halls formed acommon place on which the celebrity and the ordinary man could meet. Ifan impulsive gentleman slew his grandmother with a coal-hammer, only asmall portion of the public could gaze upon his pleasing features atthe Old Bailey. To enable the rest to enjoy the intellectual treat, itwas necessary to engage him, at enormous expense, to appear at amusic-hall. There, if he happened to be acquitted, he would come on thestage, preceded by an asthmatic introducer, and beam affably at thepublic for ten minutes, speaking at intervals in a totally inaudiblevoice, and then retire; to be followed by some enterprising lady whohad endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to solve the problem of living at therate of ten thousand a year on an income of nothing, or who hadperformed some other similarly brainy feat.

  It was not till the middle of September that anyone conceived what onewould have thought the obvious idea of offering music-hall engagementsto the invading generals.

  The first man to think of it was Solly Quhayne, the rising young agent.Solly was the son of Abraham Cohen, an eminent agent of the Victorianera. His brothers, Abe Kern, Benjamin Colquhoun, Jack Coyne, and BarneyCowan had gravitated to the City; but Solly had carried on the oldbusiness, and was making a big name for himself. It was Solly who hadmet Blinky Bill Mullins, the prominent sand-bagger, as he emerged fromhis twenty years' retirement at Dartmoor, and booked him solid for athirty-six months' lecturing tour on the McGinnis circuit. It was tohim, too, that Joe Brown, who could eat eight pounds of raw meat inseven and a quarter minutes, owed his first chance of displaying hisgifts to the wider public of the vaudeville stage.

  The idea of securing the services of the invading generals came to himin a flash.

  "S'elp me!" he cried. "I believe they'd go big; put 'em on where youlike."

  Solly was a man of action. Within a minute he was talking to themanaging director of the Mammoth Syndicate Halls on the telephone. Infive minutes the managing director had agreed to pay Prince Otto ofSaxe-Pfennig five hundred pounds a week, if he could be prevailed uponto appear. In ten minutes the Grand Duke Vodkakoff had been engaged,subject to his approval, at a weekly four hundred and fifty by theStone-Rafferty circuit. And in a quarter of an hour Solly Quhayne,having pushed his way through a mixed crowd of Tricky Serios andVersatile Comedians and Patterers who had been waiting to see him forthe last hour and a half, was bowling off in a taximeter-cab to theRussian lines at Hampstead.

  General Vodkakoff received his visitor civilly, but at first withoutenthusiasm. There were, it seemed, objections to his becoming anartiste. Would he have to wear a properly bald head and sing songsabout wanting people to see his girl? He didn't think he could. He hadonly sung once in his life, and that was twenty years ago at abump-supper at Moscow University. And even then, he confided to Mr.Quhayne, it had taken a decanter and a-half of neat vodka to bring himup to the scratch.

  The agent ridiculed the idea.

  "Why, your Grand Grace," he cried, "there won't be anything of thatsort. You ain't going to be starred as a _comic_. You're a RefinedLecturer and Society Monologue Artist. 'How I Invaded England,' withlights down and the cinematograph going. We can easily fake thepictures."

  The Grand Duke made another objection.

  "I understand," he said, "it is etiquette for music-hall artists intheir spare time to eat--er--fried fish with their fingers. Must I dothat? I doubt if I could manage it."

  Mr Quhayne once more became the human semaphore.

  "S'elp me! Of course you needn't! All the leading pros, eat it with aspoon. Bless you, you can be the refined gentleman on the Halls same asanywhere else. Come now, your Grand Grace, is it a deal? Four hundredand fifty chinking o'Goblins a week for one hall a night, andpress-agented at eight hundred and seventy-five. S'elp me! Lauderdoesn't get it, not in England."

  The Grand Duke reflected. The invasion has proved more expensive thanhe had foreseen. The English are proverbially a nation of shopkeepers,and they had put up their prices in all the shops for his specialbenefit. And he was expected to do such a lo
t of tipping. Four hundredand fifty a week would come in uncommonly useful.

  "Where do I sign?" he asked, extending his hand for the agreement.

  * * * * *

  Five minutes later Mr. Quhayne was urging his taxidriver to exceed thespeed-limit in the direction of Tottenham.

  Chapter 3

  A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE SITUATION

  Clarence read the news of the two engagements on the tape at the officeof his paper, but the first intimation the general public had of it wasthrough the medium of headlines:--

  MUSIC-HALL SENSATION INVADING GENERALS' GIGANTIC SALARIES RUMOURED RESENTMENT OF V.A.F. WHAT WILL WATER-RATS DO? INTERVIEW WITH MR. HARRY LAUDER

  Clarence chuckled grimly as the tape clicked out the news. The end hadbegun. To sow jealousy between the rival generals would have been easy.To sow it between two rival music-hall artistes would be among theworld's softest jobs.

  Among the general public, of course, the announcement created aprofound sensation. Nothing else was talked about in train and omnibus.The papers had leaders on the subject. At first the popular impressionwas that the generals were going to do a comedy duo act of theWho-Was-It-I-Seen-You-Coming-Down-the-Street-With? type, and there wasdisappointment when it was found that the engagements were fordifferent halls. Rumours sprang up. It was said that the Grand Duke hadfor years been an enthusiastic amateur sword-swallower, and had,indeed, come to England mainly for the purpose of getting bookings;that the Prince had a secure reputation in Potsdam as a singer of songsin the George Robey style; that both were expert trick-cyclists.