"_My plea to her is lost, as though The other three command the flow._" "Like a busy signal?" asked the skipper. "Very much like one," Ernest said, pleased by the skipper's comprehension. "On the other hand, they always got the messages from the palace. These took priority over all other traffic and were apt to come at any time of the day or night. The people were just one big captive audience." "What about the dust? That seems to be a recurring theme in those jingles of yours." "It is." Ernest quoted: "_Dust is he and dust his brother; They all follow one another._" "They're all dust now," the skipper said. "Did they have a revolution, finally, that killed everybody off?" "Both sides--the rulers and the ruled, simultaneously? Maybe so." Ernest sorted through his pieces of paper. "There's this one, with its inference of the death of royalty along with that of the common man: "_Comes the King! O hear him rustle; Falter, step, and wither, muscle._" The skipper was beginning to be exasperated again. "I'll be in my cabin," he said. "You seem to accomplish more when I keep out of your way. But if you want to join me in a little whiskey to keep the falters and withers at bay, come along." * * * * * The lieutenant knocked at Ernest's door in the middle of the night. "Mister Hotaling!" he called urgently. Ernest fumbled into a pair of pants and opened the door. "One of the men found this thing," the lieutenant said. "We were going to keep it locked up till morning but it's driving me crazy. Figured you'd better have a look at it." The thing was a blue-green puppet of a creature wearing--or made of--a kind of metallic sailcloth. It was about three feet tall, a caricature of a human being. It hung limp by one arm from the lieutenant's grasp, its head lolling on its shoulder. "What is it?" Ernest asked sleepily, "a doll?" "No; it's just playing dead now. It was doing a clog step in the cage before." He gave the thing a shake. "The worst of it is, it hummed all the time. And the humming seems to mean something." "Bring it in here," Ernest said. He was fully awake now. "Put it in the armchair and stick around in case I can't handle it." The creature sat awkwardly where it was put. But then the eyes, which a moment ago had seemed to be painted on the face, shifted and looked squarely at Ernest. It hummed at him. "I see what you mean," he told the lieutenant. "It seems to be trying to communicate. It's the same language as on the coils." He stared at it. "I wish it didn't remind me of Raggedy Andy. Where did you find it?" "In the throneroom of the palace. One of the men on guard there grabbed it as it came out of a panel in the wall. He grabbed it and it went limp, like a doll." "Listen," said Ernest. "_Don't you cry, boys; don't you quiver, Though all the sand is in your liver._" "What's that?" the lieutenant said. "Do you feel all right, Mister Hotaling?"