Of course, of course; I’m firm in judgment, but I yield to force. “Submission is a military virtue,” The Regulations say, “howe’er it hurt you.” I’ll now submit to buffets with sobriety, And, later on, my view of their propriety, Together with some pertinent suggestions Touching important military questions. PRESIDENT: You may, and touching civil ones to boot; Submit them, though, to Secretary Root. [_Enter Root._] MILES: Yes, but ’twould hearten me if you’d agree To signify your mind to him, not me. Seeing him lame I’ll know the views I deem Correct are held by you in light esteem. ROOT: Don’t rub your bruises, man; that’s mutiny! PRESIDENT: And it demands official scrutiny. I’ll summon a court-martial, sir, to “fire” you; And if it finds you guiltless I’ll retire you. You huff me anyhow. Dashnation, man, The battle spirit, like a black-and-tan Ranch dog, sits up and howls within my breast, And it’s O, to bust a bronco in the West! Fetch me that broomstick, soldier. Golly me! I must ride something or I die. ROOT (_on hands and knees_): Ride me. ACT II _The White House_ LOEB: O Mr. President, depress your ear Till it enfold me, so that you may hear Strange news of one departed—one that you Have done to death: old Nelson Miles. ROOSEVELT: Go to! There is no news of him; he’s dead as nails. LOEB: About him, though, they tell alarming tales. ’Tis said that he has moved an inch or so. ROOSEVELT: Go put a heavier stone upon him—go! Confound the fellow! will he ne’er stay dead? LOEB: The worst is yet to come: they say his head Is half-protruded from the tomb! ROOSEVELT: Quick, quick! Go rap it roundly with the big, big stick. LOEB: Nay, that’s a weapon I’m too weak to wield. (_aside_) For anything I know, the corpse is “heeled.” ROOSEVELT: Where’s Colonel Hull? Command him to attack. He’s brave and generous enough to crack The skull of any dead man living. Take the stick. [_Exit Loeb._] That rogue’s obedient, but he makes me sick. [_An hour elapses. Enter Hull._] HULL: