"You are a little too late, general," he said. "All the funds of the
city were sent to Antwerp some time ago, and we have not a penny in our
coffers."
That was check number one to the governor, but another was to follow.
The good folk of Brussels, the Germans noted, were showing altogether
too much spirit. They were saying among themselves that the French
would soon put the Germans in their places. So the governor placarded
the town with a notice informing the inhabitants that France had left
the Belgians to their fate; she had all she could do to look after
herself, and would trouble no further about her little ally. This
specious story might have had the designed effect but for M. Max.
Paying no heed to the possible consequences to himself, he immediately
had another notice, bearing his own signature, pasted underneath the
governor's poster. It was short and very much to the point. It stated
that the German statement was an out-and-out lie to which no attention
should be paid. What the governor said when he heard of this swift
counter-stroke may be left to the imagination. What he did was weak
enough. He simply issued another notice saying that in future no
proclamations were to be posted up without his sanction.
For a few days M. Max was left in peace; then he had another little
tussle with the enemy. Because a clerk at the town hall refused
to accept a requisition order which was not properly filled up, a
blustering German officer forced his way into the Burgomaster's room
with a cigar in his mouth.