Shortly afterwards the little steamer whistled again and left the quay. Frederick remained silent for some time as befits a man who has saved a life, and then arose to have a look at Coleopteron and doubtless to make himself better known to the little hero; but to his pained surprise Coleopteron was not to be found. All over that palm he searched in vain and on the floor; then suddenly he emitted a gurgling sound and I saw that he was in the grip of deep emotion. There was a look on his face I had never seen before, and I anxiously asked him what had happened. For some time he could not speak, but stood gazing vacantly into space. At last, with parched lips, he spoke. "Look in the milk-jug!" he said, and sank into his chair. For a moment I thought that Frederick had been poisoned, and then I realised the truth, for there in the hot milk floated the corpse of Coleopteron. "Why did he do it?" pleaded Frederick with a break in his voice. "Because," I replied, "you hadn't the sense to realise that he was staking his all on catching that boat, and, instead of helping him, you brought him back to where he started from." * * * * * Early the next morning, at Frederick's desire, we left Buda-Pesth _en route_ for the Swiss Frontier. It was impossible, if he was to retain his reason, to stay longer in a city that had for him such tragic associations. * * * * * [Illustration: THE PEACE QUEUE. AUSTRIA _(to Germany)._ "GET A MOVE ON!" BULGARIA. "IT'S NO GOOD HAGGLING; WE'VE ALL GOT TO HAVE IT." TURKEY. "WELL, I'M LAST, AND I DON'T CARE HOW LONG ANYBODY TAKES."] * * * * * [Illustration: _Temporary Officer (in department which they have forgotten to close down)._ "DASH IT! I DON'T SEE WHY WE SHOULDN'T GET UNEMPLOYMENT PAY."] * * * * * A CAPITAL OUTLAY. It was, in a sense, mutual. We had chickens; the chickens had us. On the other hand, they had the best of the bargain. We kept them; and they did not keep us. My aunt insisted that we _must_ keep chickens, and you know my aunt. Pardon! You don't know my aunt. She is an elderly maiden lady who "keeps house" for me. She is eminently practical--theoretically speaking. She insisted. "With eggs at eightpence it's a sin and a shame not to keep hens in war-time." I urged that the food would cost a good many eightpences--in war-time. Her reply was "Pshaw!" (She really does say "Pshaw"--and means it.) "Pshaw! they will live on kitchen scraps." We consulted Nibletts. He has a local reputation as a chicken expert, mainly, I believe, because he's a butcher. He recommended a breed called Wild Oats (by which he meant, I discovered, Wyandottes).