"No, but they can amuse us. This one"--and with a sudden leap I was behind him as he dozed, and I had dashed him forward another eighteenth of a millimetre--"this one has amused _me_." "Perhaps," said Celia thoughtfully, and I don't think it was quite a nice thing for a young woman to say, "perhaps we're only meant to amuse the people in Mars." "Then," I said lazily, "let's hope that they _are_ amused." * * * * * Ten days later the Great War began. Celia said no more on the subject, but she used to look at me curiously sometimes, and I fear that the problem of life left her more puzzled than ever. At the risk of betraying myself to her as "quite an ordinary person after all" I confess that there are times when it leaves me puzzled too. IV. WAR-TIME O.B.E. I know a Captain of Industry, Who made big bombs for the R.F.C., And collared a lot of £ s. d.-- And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E. I know a Lady of Pedigree, Who asked some soldiers out to tea, And said "Dear me!" and "Yes, I see"-- And she--thank God!--has the O.B.E. I know a fellow of twenty-three, Who got a job with a fat M.P.-- (Not caring much for the Infantry.) And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E. I had a friend; a friend, and he Just held the line for you and me, And kept the Germans from the sea, And died--without the O.B.E. Thank God! He died without the O.B.E. ARMAGEDDON The conversation had turned, as it always does in the smoking-rooms of golf clubs, to the state of poor old England, and Porkins had summed the matter up. He had marched round in ninety-seven that morning, followed by a small child with an umbrella and an arsenal of weapons, and he felt in form with himself. "What England wants," he said, leaning back and puffing at his cigar,--"what England wants is a war. (Another whisky and soda, waiter.) We're getting flabby. All this pampering of the poor is playing the very deuce with the country. A bit of a scrap with a foreign power would do us all the good in the world." He disposed of his whisky at a draught. "We're flabby," he repeated. "The lower classes seem to have no sense of discipline nowadays. We want a war to brace us up." * * * * * It is well understood in Olympus that Porkins must not be disappointed. What will happen to him in the next world I do not know, but it will be something extremely humorous; in this world, however, he is to have all that he wants. Accordingly the gods got to work. In the little village of Ospovat, which is in the southeastern corner of Ruritania, there lived a maiden called Maria Strultz, who was engaged to marry Captain Tomsk. "I fancy," said one of the gods, "that it might be rather funny if Maria jilted the Captain. I have an idea that it would please Porkins." "Whatever has Maria--" began a very young god, but he was immediately suppressed.