There was once a Jew, who lived many years in England and in time became
very rich. For this, he was made a lord, and was known henceforth as
Lord Roasbif. So he bought a large estate in the country, and lived the
life of a good old English country gentleman.
Nothing delighted my Lord Roasbif more than to speak to large concourses
of simple people, so on an evil night in November he went to the
Agricultural Hall in Bosmouth, a small town on the east coast, to speak
at a political meeting.
A large crowd awaited him in the hall, and the organist played ‘Hearts
of Oak’ four times.
No one heard, from afar, a murmuring sound that gradually grew louder
and louder.
There was a great clapping of hands when Lord Roasbif stood up, so that
his heart was warmed and he spoke well, touching on matters political
and social.
A few people at the back of the hall heard a strange sound.
My Lord Roasbif was almost inspired, and spoke of the ‘Glorious Embire’
and ‘Our Island Raze’ with wonderful fervour. But now the noise outside
had grown very much louder, and all the people looked at each other in
wonder and fear. There seemed to be a prodigious high tide.
‘Chentlemen,’ cried Roasbif, ‘gome whad may, our Embire is sdill, and
and always vill be as long as de Bridish raze remains--mistress of--’
‘The Sea!’ shrieked a hundred voices. But it was too late. The grey
flood swept through the building with appalling fury and engulfed them
all.