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The German Air-Fleet7
When at last the Graf von Winterfold left Bert Smallways, he left him in an extremely deflated condition, with all his little story told.
He had, as people say, made a clean breast of it. He had been pursued into details. He had had to explain the blue suit, the sandals, the Desert Dervishes--everything. For a time scientific zeal consumed the secretary, and the question of the plans remained in suspense. He even went into speculation about the previous occupants of the balloon. "I suppose," he said, "the laty WAS the laty. Bot that is not our affair.
"It is fery curious and amusing, yes: but I am afraid the Prince may be annoyt. He acted wiz his usual decision--always he acts wiz wonterful decision. Like Napoleon. Directly he was tolt of your descent into the camp at Dornhof, he said, `Pring him!--pring him! It is my schtar!` His schtar of Destiny! You see? He will be dthwarted. He directed you to come as Herr Pooterage, and you haf not done so. You haf triet, of course; but it has peen a poor try. His chugments of men are fery just and right, and it is better for men to act up to them--gompletely. Especially now. Particularly now."
He resumed that attitude of his, with his underlip pinched between his forefingers. He spoke almost confidentially. "It will be awkward. I triet to suggest some doubt, but I was over-ruled. The Prince does not listen. He is impatient in the high air. Perhaps he will think his schtar has been making a fool of him. Perhaps he will think _I_ haf been making a fool of him."
He wrinkled his forehead, and drew in the corners of his mouth.
"I got the plans," said Bert.
"Yes. There is that! Yes. But you see the Prince was interested in Herr Pooterage because of his romantic seit. Herr Pooterage was so much more--ah!--in the picture. I am afraid you are not equal to controlling the flying machine department of our aerial park as he wished you to do. He hadt promised himself that....
"And der was also the prestige--the worldt prestige of Pooterage with us.... Well, we must see what we can do." He held out his hand. "Gif me the plans."
A terrible chill ran through the being of Mr. Smallways. To this day he is not clear in his mind whether he wept or no, but certainly there was weeping in his voice. "`Ere, I say!" he protested. "Ain`t I to `ave--nothin` for `em?"
The secretary regarded him with benevolent eyes. "You do not deserve anyzing!" he said.
"I might `ave tore `em up."
"Zey are not yours!"
"They weren`t Butteridge`s!"
"No need to pay anyzing."
Bert`s being seemed to tighten towards desperate deeds. "Gaw!" he said, clutching his coat, "AIN`T there?"
"Pe galm,"said the secretary. "Listen! You shall haf five hundert poundts. You shall haf it on my promise. I will do that for you, and that is all I can do. Take it from me. Gif me the name of that bank. Write it down. So! I tell you the Prince-- is no choke. I do not think he approffed of your appearance last night. No! I can`t answer for him. He wanted Pooterage, and you haf spoilt it. The Prince--I do not understand quite, he is in a strange state. It is the excitement of the starting and this great soaring in the air. I cannot account for what he does. But if all goes well I will see to it--you shall haf five hundert poundts. Will that do? Then gif me the plans."
"Old beggar!" said Bert, as the door clicked. "Gaw!--what an ole beggar!--SHARP!"
He sat down in the folding-chair, and whistled noiselessly for a time.
"Nice `old swindle for `im if I tore `em up! I could `ave."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. "I gave the whole blessed show away. If I`d j`es` kep quiet about being Enonymous.... Gaw! ...Too soon, Bert, my boy--too soon and too rushy. I`d like to kick my silly self.
"I couldn`t `ave kep` it up.
"After all, it ain`t so very bad," he said.
"After all, five `undred pounds....It isn`t MY secret, anyhow. It`s jes` a pickup on the road. Five `undred.
"Wonder what the fare is from America back home?"
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