POST MORTEM

The President.Miles, Commander of the Army.Root, Secretary of War.Loeb, Private Secretary to President.Hull, Chairman of Committee on Military Affairs.An Orderly.

Headquarters of the Army.

MILES (in bed):What ho, there! orderly—I say, I say!Bring in my breakfast. What’s the time o’ day?What? six o’clock!—and day’s already broke?I’m too late to escape him. Holy smoke!I think I hear his footstep on the stair—But no, it is not his: there is no blareOf a great trumpet strenuously blown—That veritabletuba mirumknownTo have sounded once the charge at Kettle Hill(After ’twas made) and to be sounding still.ORDERLY:Perhaps he will not come.MILES:Perhaps, perhaps—Yet well I know those War Department chapsHave told him of my novel plan that placesThe Army on a military basis.Ne’er mind the breakfast; I’ll get up and flyBefore the sun’s another minute high.If I can by a masterly retreatEscape him trust me to come back and eat.ORDERLY:There’s some one, sir, a-tryin’ to break in.MILES:O Lord, forgive my every little sin!Seeing that I was going to be lateDeveloping my Plan, he would not wait,He’s risen with the lark, alas, and broughtHis answer to my unperfected thought.He always was forehanded.[Enter President.]PRESIDENT:I’ve no timeTo let the punishment await the crime.Take that, and that, and that! (beating him.)MILES: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 suggestionsTouching 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 agreeTo signify your mind to him, not me.Seeing him lame I’ll know the views I deemCorrect 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-tanRanch 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.

MILES (in bed):

What ho, there! orderly—I say, I say!Bring in my breakfast. What’s the time o’ day?What? six o’clock!—and day’s already broke?I’m too late to escape him. Holy smoke!I think I hear his footstep on the stair—But no, it is not his: there is no blareOf a great trumpet strenuously blown—That veritabletuba mirumknownTo have sounded once the charge at Kettle Hill(After ’twas made) and to be sounding still.

What ho, there! orderly—I say, I say!

Bring in my breakfast. What’s the time o’ day?

What? six o’clock!—and day’s already broke?

I’m too late to escape him. Holy smoke!

I think I hear his footstep on the stair—

But no, it is not his: there is no blare

Of a great trumpet strenuously blown—

That veritabletuba mirumknown

To have sounded once the charge at Kettle Hill

(After ’twas made) and to be sounding still.

ORDERLY:

Perhaps he will not come.

MILES:

Perhaps, perhaps—Yet well I know those War Department chapsHave told him of my novel plan that placesThe Army on a military basis.Ne’er mind the breakfast; I’ll get up and flyBefore the sun’s another minute high.If I can by a masterly retreatEscape him trust me to come back and eat.

Perhaps, perhaps—

Yet well I know those War Department chaps

Have told him of my novel plan that places

The Army on a military basis.

Ne’er mind the breakfast; I’ll get up and fly

Before the sun’s another minute high.

If I can by a masterly retreat

Escape him trust me to come back and eat.

ORDERLY:

There’s some one, sir, a-tryin’ to break in.

MILES:

O Lord, forgive my every little sin!Seeing that I was going to be lateDeveloping my Plan, he would not wait,He’s risen with the lark, alas, and broughtHis answer to my unperfected thought.He always was forehanded.[Enter President.]

O Lord, forgive my every little sin!

Seeing that I was going to be late

Developing my Plan, he would not wait,

He’s risen with the lark, alas, and brought

His answer to my unperfected thought.

He always was forehanded.

[Enter President.]

PRESIDENT:

I’ve no timeTo let the punishment await the crime.Take that, and that, and that! (beating him.)

I’ve no time

To let the punishment await the crime.

Take that, and that, and that! (beating him.)

MILES:

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 suggestionsTouching important military questions.

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.]

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 agreeTo signify your mind to him, not me.Seeing him lame I’ll know the views I deemCorrect are held by you in light esteem.

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-tanRanch 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.

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.

The White House

LOEB:O Mr. President, depress your earTill it enfold me, so that you may hearStrange news of one departed—one that youHave 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 headIs 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 crackThe 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:The work is done: again he is no more—He was half out. These red stains are his gore.ROOSEVELT:I trust you gave him a conclusive whack.HULL:Well, not exactly, but—I bit his back!

LOEB:

O Mr. President, depress your earTill it enfold me, so that you may hearStrange news of one departed—one that youHave done to death: old Nelson Miles.

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.

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.

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?

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 headIs half-protruded from the tomb!

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.

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.”

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 crackThe 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.]

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:

The work is done: again he is no more—He was half out. These red stains are his gore.

The work is done: again he is no more—

He was half out. These red stains are his gore.

ROOSEVELT:

I trust you gave him a conclusive whack.

HULL:

Well, not exactly, but—I bit his back!

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