CHAPTER XXXII.
Illustration: BEHOLD OUR KING!.
Apotheosis of Honest Labor.—Gorgeous Ceremonies.—Beautiful Unanimity of the Mutually Inimical Fleas Around the Throne.—End of Bamboozle No. 1.—An Awful Find.—King Honest Labor Dead; Which Shows That Plenty to Eat Is Better Than to Be a Sham King.
Illustration: DECORATIVE LETTER ‘A’.
A wonderful thing now happened. Exactly how it happened was a secret known only to the Bamboozling Committee and some of their intimates; but just as the delirium of the dogs’ joy was at its height, the whole assembly of the fleas arose as by one simultaneous impulse and cried: “Long live Honest Labor, son of Lowly Toil! He shall be our King. Bring forth the Royal Diadem and crown him Lord of all.”
And suddenly, beneath the great Flag of the Free, a great and gorgeous throne was set; and the Bamboozling Committee, gathering around and making genuflexion to poor Honest Labor—whose head by this time had grown to an enormous size—led him with every sign of homage and adoration, and amid the delighted admiration of the dogs, to the throne, and set him therein. And when he was set, a lot of the wealthy, eminent and Monstrous Fleas, headed by Grandadhat and Dephool Flea, ranged themselves up as a bodyguard of worshippers on either side of him; and another lot, headed by Bunkum Mak Tinley, fell at his feet as Homage Renderers. And Grandadhat, making a sign to the vast multitude of dogs, ostentatiously kissed him on the nose and on the right ear; and Dephool Flea, making another sign to the multitude, ostentatiously kissed him on the nose and on the left ear; and Mak Tinley, on behalf of the Homage Renderers generally, and on his own behalf particularly, kissed him on the feet; and all three, turning dramatically to the dogs, cried: “Behold our King!”
And all the assembled fleas cried out in chorus: “God save the King!”
Then cried aloud Dephool Flea: “The Royal Diadem, the Royal Diadem! Bring it forth, and crown him Lord of all.”
Then there stepped forth a very large flea, Grover Ponderous Flea by name, bearing a gorgeous looking regalia—a robe, a sceptre and a crown of very large diameter—followed by two small satellite fleas, named, the one Rosy Pretty Flower, the other Pennzy Pattyson, bearing between them a ponderous bowl filled to the brim with some golden liquid, around which flies buzzed. Whereupon all the dogs gave a great howl of delight, for they seemed to know them.
“Hurrah!” they cried, “for Grover Ponderous Flea, the new Nighunto; the tried and trusty friend and worshipper of Honest Labor. Hurrah! Hurrah!! Hurrah!!!”
Illustration: THEN THERE STEPPED FORTH A VERY LARGE FLEA, GROVER PONDEROUS FLEA BY NAME.
And Grover Ponderous Flea, bowing graciously to the dogs, and smiling knowingly to the fleas, advanced to thethrone, and lifting up his eyes to the Flag, thus addressed the occupant:
“Oh Honest Labor, whose very name is hallowed, hail! All hail! In this Land of the Free, whose very air is instantaneously deadly poison to tyranny and kings of the ancient sort, we, God’s own free-born, have learned that there is nothing truly noble but that which Nature has patented; that nothing deserves to reign but that which Nature has crowned King. Our fathers, the prophets, who gave us our Liberty and our Flag, taught us, and we, their children, have learned thatHonest Labor is the Creator of all Wealth, our guide, preserver and friend, the Prop of our Republic, without whose support the bottom would fall out, and therefore the only true, rightful, Nature-ordained king, the only right sort of a king to reign over US, the finest race of dogs and fleas that God in his wonderful wisdom ever created.
“Therefore, in the name of all these dogs assembled here, and all the fleas, whose loyalty I voice, I invest thy sacred and large head, oh, Honest Labor, with this crown of large diameter. Thou art our Lord; thou art our King. We worship thee. We love thy dirty paws. We love thy smell. We proudly point tothine ungroomed and unwashen hide, for they are the insignia of thine inherent glory. Henceforth thou art our Lord, our god and King, and we thine ever-obedient subjects.” And with that he put the robe upon him, and put the sceptre in his right paw, and retired backward from the Royal Presence.
Then cried Dephool Flea again: “Bring forth the Royal Taffy Bowl and feed him royally full.”
Then did Grover Ponderous Flea advance again, this time preceded by his satellites, Rosy Pretty Flower and Pennzy Pattyson, bearing the ponderous bowl. He gave a sign, and all the Bamboozling Committee and a large number of fleas of all sorts, High Pressurists, Low Pressurists, Nighuntos and Faraways, smiling and smirking in most heavenly amicability upon one another, gathered around the Taffy Bowl.
Then Grover Ponderous Flea called upon Tee de Little Wit Blatherskite to say grace over the mess—which he did in his most blatherskitish and perfervid manner—and then lifting up his eyes to heaven, he muttered over it some words of a strange lingo, which none but the most learned of the Bamboozling Committee understood. Some said he was enraptured, and was in a trance, and was conversing with spirits who spoke a dialect of that part of heaven called Sherrycoblerland, which he understood. Some said it was not so; he was praying, which nobody there at all understood. But some very knowing fleas said Grover Ponderous Flea was a Great High Priest and had the gift of Transubstantiation, and was really muttering the Sacred Words over the Taffy, which transformed it into the real body and blood of the Everblessed Truth and Verity. Be it as it may, these were the words:
“There is one important aspect of the subject which especially should never be overlooked, at times like the present; when the evils of unsound finance threaten us, the speculator may anticipate a harvest gathered from the misfortune of others, the capitalist may protect himself by hoarding, or may even find profit in the fluctuation of values, but the wage earner—the first to be injured by a depreciated currency, andthe last to receive the benefit of its correction—is practically defenceless. He relies for work upon the ventures of confident and contented capital; this failing him, his condition is without alleviation, for he can neither prey on the misfortunes of others, nor hoard his labor. One of the greatest statesmen our country has known, speaking more than fifty years ago, when a derangement of the currency had caused commercial distress, said: ‘The very man of all others who has the deepest interest in a sound currency and who suffers most by mischievous legislation in money matters, is the man who earns his daily bread by his daily toil.’ These words are as pertinent now as the day they were uttered, and ought to impressively remind us that a failure of the discharge of our duties at this time must especially injure those of our countrymen who labor, and who, because of their number and condition, are entitled to the most watchful care of their government.”
“There is one important aspect of the subject which especially should never be overlooked, at times like the present; when the evils of unsound finance threaten us, the speculator may anticipate a harvest gathered from the misfortune of others, the capitalist may protect himself by hoarding, or may even find profit in the fluctuation of values, but the wage earner—the first to be injured by a depreciated currency, andthe last to receive the benefit of its correction—is practically defenceless. He relies for work upon the ventures of confident and contented capital; this failing him, his condition is without alleviation, for he can neither prey on the misfortunes of others, nor hoard his labor. One of the greatest statesmen our country has known, speaking more than fifty years ago, when a derangement of the currency had caused commercial distress, said: ‘The very man of all others who has the deepest interest in a sound currency and who suffers most by mischievous legislation in money matters, is the man who earns his daily bread by his daily toil.’ These words are as pertinent now as the day they were uttered, and ought to impressively remind us that a failure of the discharge of our duties at this time must especially injure those of our countrymen who labor, and who, because of their number and condition, are entitled to the most watchful care of their government.”
These words ended, all the fleas feeling sure that such beautiful words called for an Amen anyhow, said “Amen,” and then the Taffy Ladlers, led by Grover Ponderous Flea, Taffyist-in-Chief, passed reverently before King Honest Labor, and crying, “Oh, King, live forever,” poured each a spoonful down his throat, and poor Honest Labor, astonished at the unfamiliar tickling of something to swallow, eagerly opened his mouth its widest and hungriest.
It was noticed that the Taffy Ladlers, as they passed by and fed the King, shuddered with a disgust they tried laboriously to conceal. Some muttered to each other, “Confound this job; but it has to be done.” One said, “I don’t like his smell.” “Neither do I, but we must pretend we do,” replied another. Rosy Pretty Flower turned to his fellow satellite and asked: “Brother, why do we have to worship and taffy this dirty, lousy dog?” “Well, brother,” replied Pennzy Pattyson, “it is not given common mortals to solve the heavenly mysteries; all we know is, that the Bamboozling Committee, in their inscrutable wisdom, have decreed that we must. For my own private part, I’d rather shoot him.” “So would I,” briskly rejoined Rosy Pretty Flower, “but——”
His words were drowned, for the Taffy Ladlers, having finished their function, the whole multitude of the fleas broke out in a grand Ascription that rent the heavens with loudness, as prostrating themselves, they sang:
“All hail! Oh, Honest Labor, hail!At thy dear feet we fall;We praise, we laud, we magnify,And crown thee Lord of all.”
“All hail! Oh, Honest Labor, hail!At thy dear feet we fall;We praise, we laud, we magnify,And crown thee Lord of all.”
“All hail! Oh, Honest Labor, hail!At thy dear feet we fall;We praise, we laud, we magnify,And crown thee Lord of all.”
“All hail! Oh, Honest Labor, hail!
At thy dear feet we fall;
We praise, we laud, we magnify,
And crown thee Lord of all.”
Illustration: ANDRONICUS CARNIVOROUS WAS BY THIS TIME SOME MILES AWAY.
And the noise of the Ascription was heard afar off; insomuch that Andronicus Carnivorous, who, thinking he scented danger, had sidled off and was by this time some miles away, stopped and inquired what the noise might be, and whether it signified the outbreak of trouble. To which one made answer that there was a great Apotheosis on, and all the fleas were deifying Honest Labor, a well known but terribly scrawny and hungry dog that was almighty popular with the fleas on Bamboozle Day.
“God forgive me!” cried Andronicus, penitently, “that I should be derelict in duty on this auspicious occasion. Why, Honest Labor is my dearest love, to whom I owe my wealth, my life, my all. Oh, I would not be absent from his coronation for all the world.” And he hopped back as hard as he could hop.
And Mak Tinley, seeing him returned, said unto him: “Whence comest thou, Andronicus? We had chosen thee to officiate as Grand High Priest, to place the crown on Honest Labor’s head, but thou wert missing when wanted, and we were forced to give the job to brother Ponderous Flea, who, I must say, has acquitted himself in the sacred office most brilliantly, and as well as the best Bamboozler of us all could have done.”
“Alack and alas! Brother Mak Tinley,” replied Andronicus, “thou knowest that I am a somewhat timid flea; and I thought, when brother Pharaoh Phrique was speaking that there was going to be trouble; so I sidled off. I see now that my fears were unfounded. I am awfully sorry to have missed this coronation, but I’ll try to be on hand at the next crowning and taffying.”
And when the multitude of the dogs saw the multitude of the fleas fall prostrate to Honest Labor, and heard the shout of the great Ascription, they were astounded and delighted; and they said to one another that surely the fleas were their dearest friends; that surely they could have no wealth comparable to a Country and a Flag, and that surely in a land where Statistics and great Averages abounded on all sides, and where great crops of them could be reaped at any time, and where Honest Labor was held in such reverence as to be crowned King, it was sinful, it was positively wicked—to imagine for a moment that they were hungry, that Hunger was a Delusion and Unpatriotism, that every truly loyal Canisvillian was bound in duty to the Flag to deny the existence of and repudiate.
And their delirious joy did make them deaf to the rumblings of their empty bellies.
And all the multitude of the fleas arose, and, led by the Bamboozling Committee, formed and marched in Solemn Procession around and around King Honest Labor—whose head by this time was grown so big that it threatened to burst its crown.
Oh, they were a goodly crowd of infinitely varied hues and colors, and antagonistic opinions of each other, all blended together that day in one grand harmony of purpose and feeling. Low Pressurists, Medium Pressurists, High Pressurists, Nighuntos, Faraways, Petty Squabblers, Grand Squabblers, Eminent Fleas, Wealthy Fleas, Monstrous Fleas, all were Dog Worshippers then, and the most humble and obedient servants and subjects of His Grievously Hungry but Supernal Majesty, King Honest Labor; and as they marched past him each swung a censer of thickly fuming and heavily perfumed Flattery under his royal nose; and as they marched and swung, they sang:
“In politics alwaysAt loggerheads we;But we’re all of us one,In our worship of thee,Honest Labor.”
“In politics alwaysAt loggerheads we;But we’re all of us one,In our worship of thee,Honest Labor.”
“In politics alwaysAt loggerheads we;But we’re all of us one,In our worship of thee,Honest Labor.”
“In politics always
At loggerheads we;
But we’re all of us one,
In our worship of thee,
Honest Labor.”
And they shouted “God save the King!” and all the dogs to the waving of the pretty cloths and a crash of the wind, bang and thump instruments, cried “Amen.” And they swung the censers, and cried “Long Live the King!” and all the dogs answered “Amen,” and they prostrated themselves and cried, “All hail the King;” and all the dogs cried, “All hail!”
And right in the midst of the grand insanity the heavens were again darkened; the weird green and yellow lights flashed again; the heavenly breeze lifted up the proud and noble Flag, and flapped it with a great flapping; the fleas prostrated themselves again, and the dogs followed suit. The Bamboozling Committee, with Grover Ponderous Flea and his satellites, gathered around the throne and the Flag in a sacred circle, and the Reverend Salaried Barker Tee de Little Wit Blatherskite stepped forth, and turning to the dogs with outstretched paw, lifted up a voice of solemnity and cried:
“Hear ye, O dogs, O hear ye. Thus saith Heaven: This is the Flag of the Free, and this is the throne of King Honest Labor, our National Pride and Glory, the only real, genuine, and original Flag and throne; designed in Heaven and set up in the only spot on earth worth living in—Canisville—where God hath concentrated his blessings; the Flag, at the terror of whose shake slavery, ill-government, corruption, injustice, inequality run shrieking and terrified to hell; under whose blessed protection, virtue, honesty and industry always come to honor and wealth; and vice, idleness and dishonesty to want, shame and everlasting contempt [Solemn snickering and winking amongst the Bamboozling Committee; and the Holy One a Maker of long prayers, is heard to gently murmur, “True, all true; bless the Lord!”] a Flag under which all fleas are prosperous and all dogs are contented, and all things go on in divinely appointed order.
“Now therefore, seeing we have the grandest Country on earth, the grandest Throne, the grandest King, and the grandest Flag floating over us all, let us take these grand dispensations as Heaven’s bow of promise that God will evermore bless us and keep us. Where these are, no evil can touch us; no hunger, no poverty can ever come.
“Therefore, in the name of Heaven, whose secrets I am on familiar terms with, and to whom particularly God has revealed his will, I say poverty, hunger, want, begone! and to fullness, plenty and content, come and abide! Begone panic! begone lack of confidence! begone crisis! Let there be a conspiracy of cheerful sermons and words and talk. Let all dogs stop singing ‘Windham’ and sing ‘Coronation.’ Let them positively refuse to admit the existence of hunger amongst them. Conspire together to believe yourselves round and plump and fat and full. It is all a matter of confidence and faith; for the Blessed Book on the costly cushion, which it hath been given to me alone of Heaven to interpret, saith: “All things are possible unto them that believe!” Therefore have faith, and be ye full, contentedand happy; and know ye that this is the grandest country in the world, and this the grandest moment of the grandest hour of the grandest year of the grandest century the world ever saw.”
Then the Blatherskite, lifting his eyes and paws to heaven, invoked upon them all an abundance of corn and wine and oil and bones and meat, and on top of them Heaven’s choicest spiritual blessings; all the Bamboozlers said “Amen,” the sun came out in dazzling splendor; the Flag fluttered once more; the pretty cloths were waved; the wind, bang and thump instruments made a final hubbub, and the great Bamboozle came to an end, and the delighted and happy dogs, with a final cheer, dispersed.
Then the Bamboozlers laughed and winked to each other, and hauled down the Flag of the Free and packed it away until wanted again.
But when they went to pull down the throne, they noticed that poor King Honest Labor was fallen over to one side, and when they went to tear his crown and robe off, they lifted him up, and with surprise noticed that he was stone dead and cold.
And one ran and fetched one of the curious creatures called “Emdees,” who looked the poor dog over, and gave it as his opinion that deceased had come by his decease by reason of heart failure, superinduced by the great excitement of the great Function, to which his constitution, etcetera, was inadequate, owing to chronic Vacuity of the Alimentary Canal, which was, no doubt, according to a previous statement of the deceased, an hereditary complaint, for which no one but deceased’s parents were to blame; and it was his opinion that parents ought not to have such complaints.
And some of the Bamboozlers said it was unfortunate that he should have died just then, as the pesky thinking dogs might hear of it, and do something to wreck the Bamboozle. But others confidently asserted that all dogs were fools anyhow, and that if they did get to hear that Honest Labor had died of starvation, they would forget all about it by next Bamboozle Day.