And now, in my frantic quest for a sarkarship, I introduced a still further new game, namely marching evolutions on an extended scale. Strictly speaking, this was really an adaptation of an old game, rather than the creation of a new, for marching formations had always been popular in Cupia; but my three new radio devices made it possible to perform these evolutions by twelves of thousands. We tried it out in our own twelve thousand. The commander broadcast his orders to the selectively tuned headsets of the eklats, and they in turn to the pootahs, each of whom then directed his hundred at ordinary wave length. The regimental evolutions went through like clockwork, and _this_ idea spread to the other twelve thousands of the country. But still I was not made a sarkar. I then turned my attention to the construction of two huge engines, one of which we mounted on a kerkool and one on a concrete base in the courtyard of the university machine shop. The purpose of these engines was for the present kept secret. But I had a feeling that they would win me the sarkarship, even if everything else failed. As a result of my inventions, King Kew sufficiently unbent to invite me to occupy the reviewing stand with him on Peace Day, when the annual athletic prize-giving was to take place. This was a signal honor which even sarkars might envy, but it was not a sarkarship. The morning of the five hundredth anniversary of the Peace of Mooni—three hundred and fifty-eight in Porovian notation—dawned clear and dazzling. By 460 o’clock—9:00 o’clock in earth time—the whole plaza and the fields beyond were jammed with marching clubs. The Minister of Play, who stood with me on the reviewing platform at the crest of University Hill—along with the rest of the cabinet, Prince Toron, and a few leading nobles and professors—sadly remarked that he was afraid the maneuvers would have to be given up. I replied with a smile that I guessed not; though he was unable to figure out how evolutions could be possible with that huge crowd. Pistol shooting had recently been introduced as a tentative subject for next year’s games, and our committee of five all wore revolvers strapped to our sides, as a special badge in recognition of our responsibility for the gala occasion. The housetops and roads were crowded with Cupian femininity. All was ready for the grand opening. I adjusted the controls of the big sending set, and dispatched Poblath, who had been detailed as my aide for the day, to inform the king that the time had arrived for his address. As King Kew XII stepped up on the stand, at just 500 o’clock—10:00 in earth time—practically the entire male population of Cupia gave him the United States Army present arms in absolute unison. It was an inspiring sight. I noticed that the king seemed extremely pale and nervous, but I did not give this much thought at the time.