' Oh, say. Did I tell you my Captain gave me
a letter to an English Lord in Cape Town, and he
fixed things so's I could lie up a piece in his house?
I was pretty sick, and threw up some blood from
where the rib had gouged into the lung—here.
This Lord was a crank on guns, and he took
charge of the Zigler. He had his knife into the
British system as much as any American. He said
he wanted revolution, and not reform, in your
army. He said the British soldier had failed in
every point except courage. He said England
needed a Monroe Doctrine worse than America—a new doctrine, barring out all the Continent, and
strictly devoting herself to developing her own
Colonies. He said he'd abolish half the Foreign
Office, and take all the old hereditary families clean
out of it, because, he said, they was expressly
trained to fool around with continental diplomats,
and to despise the Colonies. His own family wasn't
more than six hundred years old. He was a very
brainy man, and a good citizen. We talked politics
and inventions together when my lung let up on
me.
' Did he know my General? Yes. He knew 'em all. Called 'em Teddie and Gussie and Willie. They was all of the very best, and all his dearest friends; but he told me confidentially they was none of 'em fit to command a column in the field. He said they were too fond of advertising. Generals don't seem verv different from actors or doctors or—ves, Sir—inventors.
' He fixed things for me lovelily at Simonstown. Had the biggest sort of pull—even for
