SECRETS OF THE COMMISSARIAT.
The mysterious workings of the commissary department are beyond the
understanding of ordinary mortals. Therefore let it suffice us to take
only a passing glance at those mysteries.
Benjamin Vajdar was enjoying a tête-à-tête with the Marchioness
Caldariva after the theatre.
"Well, what has my cripple to report of his day's doings?" asked Rozina.
"Is all going well in Italy?"
"We signed a contract to-day for supplying our army there with forty
thousand cattle," was Vajdar's reply.
"Ah, that will make about two hundredweight of beef to a man," returned
the other, reckoning on her fingers.
"Not an ounce of which will ever reach them," said the secretary, with a
smile; "but we shall make a couple of millions out of the
transaction,--a mere bagatelle for Papa Cagliari, however; not enough to
keep him in champagne."
"A very clever stroke of yours," commented the marchioness, with
approval; "and I can tell you of another little operation the prince has
in hand just now. Bring me the morocco pocketbook out of my
writing-desk, please."
Vajdar limped across the room and brought the pocketbook. Rozina opened
it and drew forth an official-looking document.
"Here is a contract for so and so many bushels of grain to be furnished
to the army. You see it foots up a large sum, but the profits won't be
so very great, after all, owing to the recent rise in prices on the corn
exchange."
"Oh, don't worry about that," interposed Benjamin, with a knowing smile.
"Who will ever know the difference if a quarter part of the total weight
is chaff and clay? It will all grind up into excellent flour, and when
the soldier eats his barley bread or his rye loaf it will taste all the
better to him. There is nearly half a million florins' clear profit in
the transaction, at a moderate estimate."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the beautiful Cyrene. "So the soldiers must eat
half a million florins' worth of chaff and clay to enable Papa Cagliari
to take his morning bath in champagne."
"Well, what of that? It makes, at most, only two florins' worth to a
man, and the soldier who loves his country ought to be glad to eat two
florins' worth of her soil. Has the prince any other contract under
consideration?"
"Yes, a very important one. He has procured an order that the troops in
Italy shall wear for their summer uniform cotton blouses instead of
linen, and he has the contract for furnishing the material."
"But the prices named here are very low," objected Vajdar, reading from
the paper Rozina had handed him.
"Ah, but let me explain. The cotton is to be thirty inches wide, with so
and so many threads to the warp--according to the specifications. But
what soldier will ever think of counting the threads in his blouse, or
know whether it was cut from goods thirty inches wide or twenty-eight?
So, you see, with a little trimming here and a little paring there we
can make a good hundred thousand florins out of the job."
"But are our tracks well covered? Is there no risk in all this?"
"Fear nothing. There are eyeglasses that blind the sharpest of eyes."
"How if there are some eyes that will not be fitted with these glasses?"
"Again I say, never fear. A victorious campaign covers a multitude of
sins."
"And a lost one brings everything to light."
"Not at all. A slaughtered army tells no tales. But, by the way, is not
our Toroczko friend among those who are likely enough to fall some day
before the French and Italians?"
"He is still in Lombardy," said Vajdar, with a significant nod of the
head. "We have our eyes on him."
"I am curious to know what this apostle of peace will do when he is
ordered into battle. You know, he and his comrades are Unitarians and
entertain scruples against shedding blood, except in defence of home and
country. Will Manasseh Adorjan fight when he is ordered to, or throw
down his arms?"
"In either case, he will die," declared Benjamin Vajdar.
"I should prefer to have him only wounded," said the marchioness. "Then
his mate would leave her nest in the mountains and hasten to nurse him
in the hospital; and contagious diseases are not uncommon in military
hospitals, where both patients and nurses are often swept off by
them--so quickly, too, that no one thinks of inquiring very closely into
the matter."
"You are impatient, marchioness," commented the secretary.
"And you choose to remark upon it because I would have the prince a
widower and a free man?"
With that the fair Cyrene nestled close at her fellow-conspirator's
side, and proceeded to caress him and to murmur soft words in his ear.
And so the night sped, and the first peep of dawn overtook the two
before they separated.