“Or that I am; but I’m not, and you’re not, and she’s not.” “Does she _say_ that she’s the Queen of Babylon?” he uneasily asked. “Yes,” said Anthea recklessly. “This thought-transference is more far-reaching than I imagined,” he said. “I suppose I have unconsciously influenced _her_, too. I never thought my Babylonish studies would bear fruit like this. Horrible! There are more things in heaven and earth—” “Yes,” said Anthea, “heaps more. And the pound is the thing _I_ want more than anything on earth.” He ran his fingers through his thin hair. “This thought-transference!” he said. “It’s undoubtedly a Babylonian ring—or it seems so to me. But perhaps I have hypnotized myself. I will see a doctor the moment I have corrected the last proofs of my book.” “Yes, do!” said Anthea, “and thank you so very much.” She took the sovereign and ran down to the others. And now from the window of a four-wheeled cab the Queen of Babylon beheld the wonders of London. Buckingham Palace she thought uninteresting; Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament little better. But she liked the Tower, and the River, and the ships filled her with wonder and delight. “But how badly you keep your slaves. How wretched and poor and neglected they seem,” she said, as the cab rattled along the Mile End Road. “They aren’t slaves; they’re working-people,” said Jane. “Of course they’re working. That’s what slaves are. Don’t you tell me. Do you suppose I don’t know a slave’s face when I see it? Why don’t their masters see that they’re better fed and better clothed? Tell me in three words.” No one answered. The wage-system of modern England is a little difficult to explain in three words even if you understand it—which the children didn’t. “You’ll have a revolt of your slaves if you’re not careful,” said the Queen. “Oh, no,” said Cyril; “you see they have votes—that makes them safe not to revolt. It makes all the difference. Father told me so.” “What is this vote?” asked the Queen. “Is it a charm? What do they do with it?” “I don’t know,” said the harassed Cyril; “it’s just a vote, that’s all! They don’t do anything particular with it.” “I see,” said the Queen; “a sort of plaything. Well, I wish that all these slaves may have in their hands this moment their fill of their favourite meat and drink.” Instantly all the people in the Mile End Road, and in all the other streets where poor people live, found their hands full of things to eat and drink. From the cab window could be seen persons carrying every kind of food, and bottles and cans as well. Roast meat, fowls, red lobsters, great yellowy crabs, fried fish, boiled pork, beef-steak puddings, baked onions, mutton pies; most of the young people had oranges and sweets and cake. It made an enormous change in the look of the Mile End Road—brightened it up, so to speak, and brightened up, more than you can possibly imagine, the faces of the people. “Makes a difference, doesn’t it?” said the Queen.