The Clicking of Cuthbert

learning the language fine!"

King Merolchazzar's fury died away. He simpered modestly at these words

of commendation, the first his bearded preceptor had uttered. With

exemplary patience he turned to address the stone for the

twenty-seventh time.

That night it was all over the city that the King had gone crazy over a

new religion, and the orthodox shook their heads.

       *       *       *       *       *

We of the present day, living in the midst of a million marvels of a

complex civilization, have learned to adjust ourselves to conditions

and to take for granted phenomena which in an earlier and less advanced

age would have caused the profoundest excitement and even alarm. We

accept without comment the telephone, the automobile, and the wireless

telegraph, and we are unmoved by the spectacle of our fellow human

beings in the grip of the first stages of golf fever. Far otherwise was

it with the courtiers and officials about the Palace of Oom. The

obsession of the King was the sole topic of conversation.

Every day now, starting forth at dawn and returning only with the

falling of darkness, Merolchazzar was out on the Linx, as the outdoor

temple of the new god was called. In a luxurious house adjoining this

expanse the bearded Scotsman had been installed, and there he could be

found at almost any hour of the day fashioning out of holy wood the

weird implements indispensable to the new religion. As a recognition of

his services, the King had bestowed upon him a large pension,

innumerable kaddiz or slaves, and the title of Promoter of the

King's Happiness, which for the sake of convenience was generally

shortened to The Pro.

At present, Oom being a conservative country, the worship of the new

god had not attracted the public in great numbers. In fact, except for

the Grand Vizier, who, always a faithful follower of his sovereign's

fortunes, had taken to Gowf from the start, the courtiers held aloof to

a man. But the Vizier had thrown himself into the new worship with such

vigour and earnestness that it was not long before he won from the King

the title of Supreme Splendiferous Maintainer of the Twenty-Four

Handicap Except on Windy Days when It Goes Up to Thirty--a title which

in ordinary conversation was usually abbreviated to The Dub.

All these new titles, it should be said, were, so far as the courtiers

were concerned, a fruitful source of discontent. There were black looks

and mutinous whispers. The laws of precedence were being disturbed, and

the courtiers did not like it. It jars a man who for years has had his

social position all cut and dried--a man, to take an instance at

random, who, as Second Deputy Shiner of the Royal Hunting Boots, knows

that his place is just below the Keeper of the Eel-Hounds and just

above the Second Tenor of the Corps of Minstrels--it jars him, we say,

to find suddenly that he has got to go down a step in favour of the

Hereditary Bearer of the King's Baffy.

But it was from the priesthood that the real, serious opposition was to

be expected. And the priests of the sixty-seven gods of Oom were up in

arms. As the white-bearded High Priest of Hec, who by virtue of his

office was generally regarded as leader of the guild, remarked in a

glowing speech at an extraordinary meeting of the Priests' Equity

Association, he had always set his face against the principle of the

Closed Shop hitherto, but there were moments when every thinking man

had to admit that enough was sufficient, and it was his opinion that

such a moment had now arrived. The cheers which greeted the words

showed how correctly he had voiced popular sentiment.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of all those who had listened to the High Priest's speech, none had

listened more intently than the King's half-brother, Ascobaruch. A

sinister, disappointed man, this Ascobaruch, with mean eyes and a

crafty smile. All his life he had been consumed with ambition, and

until now it had looked as though he must go to his grave with this

ambition unfulfilled. All his life he had wanted to be King of Oom, and

now he began to see daylight. He was sufficiently versed in Court

intrigues to be aware that the priests were the party that really

counted, the source from which all successful revolutions sprang. And

of all the priests the one that mattered most was the venerable High

Priest of Hec.

It was to this prelate, therefore, that Ascobaruch made his way at the

close of the proceedings. The meeting had dispersed after passing a

unanimous vote of censure on King Merolchazzar, and the High Priest was

refreshing himself in the vestry--for the meeting had taken place in

the Temple of Hec--with a small milk and honey.

"Some speech!" began Ascobaruch in his unpleasant, crafty way. None

knew better than he the art of appealing to human vanity.

The High Priest was plainly gratified.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, modestly.

"Yessir!" said Ascobaruch. "Considerable oration! What I can never

understand is how you think up all these things to say. I couldn't do

it if you paid me. The other night I had to propose the Visitors at the