_French._ My dear Major, you have saved Europe. _Joffre_ (_unpinning medal from his coat_). In the name of France I give you this. But you have a medal already, Monsieur? _Myself_ (_proudly_). My special constable's badge, General. I shall be proud to see the other alongside it. _The scene fades._ [I can only suppose that at this moment I am moved by the desire to save useless bloodshed, for I next find myself with the enemy.] AT POTSDAM. _Kaiser_ (_eagerly_). Ah, my good TIRPITZ, what news of our blockade? _Myself_ (_removing whiskers_). No, WILLIAM, not TIRPITZ! _Kaiser._ An Englishman! _Myself._ An Englishman--and come to beg you to give up the struggle. _Kaiser._ Never, while there is breath in man or horse! _Myself._ One moment. Let me tell you what is about to happen. On my advice the Allies are making a broad swee---- Put back your sword, Sire. I am not going to strike you--a broad sweeping movement through Germany. _Kaiser_ (_going pale_). We are undone. It is the end of all. And this was _your_ idea? _Myself._ My own, your Majesty. _Kaiser_ (_eagerly_). Would an Iron Cross and a Barony tempt you to join us? Only a brain like yours could defeat such a movement. _Myself_ (_with dignity_). As a Major and a gentleman---- _Kaiser._ Enough. I feared it was useless. _(Gloomily)_ We surrender. _The scene closes._ [The final scene is not so clear in my memory that I can place it with confidence upon paper. But the idea of it is this.] AT ---- PALACE. _A Certain Person._ Your country can never sufficiently reward you, Major, but we must do what we can. I confer on you the V.C., the D.S.O., the M.V.O., the P.T.O. and the P. and O. The payment of a special grant of £5,000 a year for life will be proposed in the House to-morrow. _Myself._ Thank you, Sir. As for the grant, I shall value it more for the spirit which prompted it than for its actual---- Did you say _five_ thousand, Sir? [At this point I realise with horror that I have only a very short vest on, and with a great effort I wake.... The papers seem very dull at breakfast.] A. A. M. * * * * * THE SOLDIER'S ENGLAND. My England was a draper's shop, And seemed to be the place to fit My size of man; and I'd to stop And make believe I fancied it-- That and a yearly glimpse of mountain blue, A book or two. A bigger England stirs afloat. I see it well in one who's come From where he left his home and boat By Cornish coasts, whose rollers drum Their English music on an English shore Right at his door. And one who's left the North a spell Has found an England he can love, Hacking out coal. He's learnt her well Though mines are narrow and, above, The dingy houses set in dreary rows, Seem all he knows.