“How are your patients doing?” inquired His Majesty.
“Beautifully,” said she; and His Majesty said that he was pleased--just as if he had not said the same words only a minute before. He looked at the patients with benevolent but tired-looking eyes; and the Honourable Beatrice, by those subtle methods known to women, brought it about that he looked especially at her favourite. She knew that he would wish to talk to some of the patients, and by ever so slight a movement she brought it about that it was towards Jimmie Higgins he advanced.
“What is your name?” he asked, and then, “Well, Higgins, how are you feeling?”
“Sure, I'm all right,” said Jimmie sturdily; “I wanner get up, only she won't let me.”
“Well,” said His Majesty, “the time was when the king was the tyrant, but now it's the nurse.” He smiled at the Honourable lady. “Are you an American soldier?”
“Naw,” replied Jimmie, “I'm only a machinist.”
“This is a war of machines,” replied His Majesty, graciously.
“I'm a Socialist!” exclaimed Jimmie, right off the bat.
“But you're not one of those Socialists who oppose their country, I see.”
“I done it for a long time,” said Jimmie. “I didn't see we had no business in this here war. But I been changin'--a bit.”
“I'm glad to hear that,” remarked His Majesty. “Doubtless your recent experience has helped you to change.”
“Sure,” replied Jimmie. “But I'm still a Socialist, don't you make no mistake about that, Mr. King.”
“I won't,” said His Majesty; and he looked at the Honourable Beatrice, and between them there flashed one of those subtle messages which highly sophisticated people know how to give and to catch--entirely over the heads of Socialist machinists from Leesville, U.S.A. To the Honourable Beatrice the message conveyed. “How perfectly delicious!” To His Majesty it conveyed, “I knew you'd enjoy it!”
Jimmie's mind was, of course, occupied entirely with the idea of propaganda. He must make the most of this strange opportunity! “Things is goin' to be changed after this here war!” said he. “Fer the workin' people, I mean.”
“They'll be changed for all of us,” said His Majesty. “The dullest of us know that.”
“The workin' people got to get what they earn!” persisted Jimmie. “Why, Mr. King--back home where I come from a feller could work twelve hours a day all his life, an' not have enough saved up to bury himself with. An' they say it was worse here in England.”