were awakened the next morning by a confused sound of murmuring beneath the palace windows. I rose and threw open the flowered damask curtains.
The whole courtyard was filled with a tumultuous mob armed with an assortment of well-chosen weapons. They carried banners, hastily made but effective, upon which I read at a glance a few sentences like these:
"Down with the Destroyer of our Homes!"
"Chubaiboy to the Garahoogly!"
"We must have our White Elephant!"
"The Chief Barber or Death!"
"Turban-Twister Terrors!" and so on. Before I could read more, I saw the Chief Barber on the back of the White Elephant at the head of the mob. He was a Moor.
"O Chubaiboy!" said he, wielding a bright razor so that he reflected the rays of the morning sun into my eyes. "Will you abdicate, or shall it be the sack and the gently flowing Garahoogly?"
"Where is the Grand Vizir?" I said, after a moment's hesitation.
"Here, your Majesty," answered that official. I saw he was in command of the right wing of the mob. He looked very well, too.
"And the Master of Ceremonies?"
"Here, your Highness," was the answer. He apparently led the left wing.
"And are you both against me?' I asked.
"We are!" they answered respectfully, but with considerable decision.
"And where are my adherents?" I shouted.
"Here!" said a sweet voice at my side. It was Dorema.
"Here!" said another soft voice. It was the boy in starched linen. I almost liked him at that moment.
"Any others?"
