clearing up the streets, moving derelict motor cars while their owners were not in a position to defend them. To-day there was an ordinance forbidding the use of Arab dress. Were they, at their time of life, to start decking themselves out in coat and trousers and topee like a lot of half-caste bank clerks?… besides, the prices tailors charged… it was a put-up job… you might as well be in a British colony.
Meanwhile with much overseeing and shouting, and banging of behinds, preparations were in progress on the route to the railway station; the first train since the troubles was due to leave that afternoon.
It had taken a long time to get a train together. On the eve of the battle of Ukaka the station mas-ter and all the more responsible members of his staff had left for the mainland. In the week that followed Seth’s victory they had returned one by one with various explanations of their absence. Then there had been the tedious business of repairing the line which both armies had ruined at several places; They had had to collect wood fuel for the engine and wire for the telegraph lines. This had been the longest delay, for no sooner was it procured from the mainland than it was stolen by General Connolly’s disbanded soldiers to decorate the arms and legs of their women. Finally when everything had been prepared it was decided to delay the train a few days until the arrival of the mail ship from Europe. It thus happened that Basil Seal’s arrival in Matodi coincided with the date fixed for Seth’s triumphal return to Debra-Dowa.
Arrangements for his departure had been made with great care by the Emperor himself, and the chief features embodied in a proclamation in Sa-kuyu, Arabic and French, which was posted prominently among the many pronouncements which heralded the advent of Progress and the New Age.
ORDER FOR THE DAY OF THE EMPEROR’S DEPARTURE
(1) The Emperor will proceed to Matodi railway station at 14.30 here (8.30 Mohammedan time). He will be attended by his personal suite, the Commander- in-Chief and the General Staff. The guard of honour will be composed of the first battalion of the Imperial Life Guards. Full dress uniform (boots for officers), will be worn by all ranks. Civilian gentlemen will wear jacket and orders. Ball ammunition will not be issued to the troops.
(2) The Emperor will be received at the foot of the station steps by the station master who will conduct him to his carriage. The public will not be admitted to the platforms, or to any of the station buildings with the exception of the following, in the following order of precedence: Consular representatives of foreign powers, the Nestorian Metropolitan of Matodi, the Vicar Apostolic, the Mor-mon elder, officers of H. I. M. forces, directors of the Grand Chemin de Per d’Azanie; peers of the Azanian Empire, representatives of the Press. No person, irrespective of rank, will be admitted to the platform improperly dressed or under the influence of alcohol.
(3) The public will be permitted to line the route to the station. The police will prevent the dis-charge of firearms by the public.
(4) The sale of alcoholic liquor is forbidden from midnight until the departure of the Imperial train.
(5) One coach will be available for the use of the unofficial travellers to Debra-Dowa. Applications should be made to the station master. No passenger will be admitted to the platform after 14.0.
(6) Any infringement of the foregoing regulations renders the offender liable to a penalty not exceeding ten years imprisonment, or confiscation of property and loss of rights, or both.
Basil read this at the railway station, where he drove in a horse cab as soon as he landed. He went to the booking office and bought a first-class ticket to Debra-Dowa. It cost two hundred rupees.
“Will you please reserve me a seat on this afternoon’s train?”
“That is impossible. There is only one carriage. The places have been booked many days.”
“When is the next train?”
“Who can say? Perhaps next week. The engine must come back from Debra-Dowa. The others are broken and the mechanic is busy on the tank.”
“I must speak to the station master.”
“I am the station master.”
“Well, listen, it is very urgent that I go to Debra-Dowa to-day.”
“You should have made your arrangements sooner. You must understand, monsieur, that you are no longer in Europe.’
As Basil turned to go, a small man who had been sitting fanning himself on a heap of packing cases, scrambled down and came across the booking hall towards him. He was dressed in alpaca and skull cap; he had a cheerful, round, greasy, yellowish face and ‘Charlie Chaplin’ moustache.
” ‘Ullo, Englishmans, you want something?”
“I want to go to Debra-Dowa.”
“O.K. I fix it.”
“That’s very nice of you.”
“Honour to fix it. You know who I am? Look here.” He handed Basil a card on which was printed: M. Krikor Youkoumian, Grande Hotel et Bar Amurath Matodi, grande Hotel Cafe Epicerie, et Bibliotheque Empereur Seyid Debra-Dowa. Touts les renseignements. The name Seyid had been obliterated in purple ink and Seth substituted for it.
“You keep that,” said Mr. Youkoumian. “You come to Debra-Dowa. You come to me. I fix everything. What’s your name, sir?”
“Seal.”
“Well, look, Mr. Seal. You want to come Debra-Dowa. I got two seats. You pay me two hundred rupees, I put
“I’m not going to pay anything like that, I’m afraid.”
“Now, listen, Mr. Seal. I fix it for you. You don’t know this country. Stinking place. You miss this train, you stay in Matodi one, two, three, perhaps six weeks. How much you pay then? I like English-mens. They are my favourite gentlemen. Look, you give me hundred and fifty rupees I put
