"Tell us," said Phyllis laboriously, "about diploma----" and there it
stuck.
"Tistics," added Lillah in a superior manner.
Being an uncle, I can never give my brain a rest. It is the easiest
thing in the world to be found out by a child of seven.
"You mean," I said, "diplomatists?"
"Yes," said Phyllis in a monotone. "Daddy said they-weren't-any
earthly-blast-them and----"
"Yes, yes!" I said hastily. I can imagine what George said about
diplomatists. He held a good deal of Balkan stock.
"Well, are they?" asked Lillah innocently.
"Diplomatists," I said, "are people in spats and creased trousers, and
the truth is not in them."
"What is spats?" asked Phyllis.
"Spats," I answered, "are what people wear when they want to get a job
and their boots are shabby."
"Are diplomatists shabby?" queried Lillah.
"Not a bit," I answered rather bitterly.
"Do they want jobs?"
"They want to keep them," I said.
"So they have spats," said Phyllis, completely satisfied.
"Exactly," I said. "Then they go into an extremely grand room together
and talk."
"What about?" said Lillah.
"Oh, anything that turns up," I answered--"the rise in prices or the
late thaw; or if everything fails they simply make personal remarks."
"Like clergymen," said Phyllis vaguely.
"Exactly," I said. "And all round the building are secret police
disguised as reporters, and reporters disguised as secret police. And
then each of the diplomatists goes away and writes a white paper, or a
black paper, or a greeny-yellow paper, to show that he was right."
"And then?" Phyllis gaped with astonishment.
"Then everybody organises, and centralises, and fraternises, and
defraternises, and, in the end, mobilises."
Phyllis and Lillah simply stared.
"Why?" they both gasped.
"Oh, just to show the diplomatists were wrong," I said airily.
"And then?" said Lillah breathlessly.
"The ratepayers pay more."
"What is a ratepayer?" asked Phyllis.
"A notorious geek and gull," I said, borrowing from a more distinguished
writer.
Lillah stared at me with misgiving.
"But why don't the diplomists say what's true?" she asked.
"Because," I said, "they'd lose their money and nobody would love them."
"But," said Phyllis, "Mummie said if we were good everyone would love
us."
"Your mother was quite right," I answered, with a distinct twinge of
that thin-ice feeling.
"Well, but you said nobody would love diplomists if they were good,"
said Phyllis.
"So good people aren't loved," added Lillah, "and Mummie said what
wasn't true."
I fought desperately for a reply. This could not be allowed to pass. It
struck at the roots of nursery constitutionalism.
"Ah," I said, without any pretence at logic, "but the poor diplomatists
don't know any better."
"Like the heathen that Mummie tells us about on Sunday?"
"Between the heathen and a diplomatist," I said, "there is nothing to
choose."
Phyllis sighed. "I wish I didn't know any better," she said yearningly.
Lillah looked at me dangerously from the corner of her eye.
"And got money for it," she added.
"Would you like to play zoo?" I said hastily.
They were silent.
"I'll be a bear," I said eagerly--"a polar one."
No answer. I felt discouraged, but I made another effort. "Or," I said,
"I can be a monkey and you can throw nuts at me, or" --desperately-- "a
ring-tailed lemur, or an orangoutang, or an ant-eater...." My voice
tailed away and there was silence. Then the small voice of Phyllis broke
in.
"Uncle," she said, "why aren't you a diplomist?"
At that point Nurse came in and I slid quietly off. As I was going out
of the door I heard the voice of Lillah.
"Nannie," she said, "tell us about diplomists."
"You leave diplomatists alone, Miss Lillah," said Nurse; "they won't do
you no harm if you don't talk about them."
Now why couldn't I have thought of that? It's just training, I suppose.
* * * * *
An Impending Apology.
"Lieut.-Col. ---- is out of the city in the interests of
recruiting."
_Winnipeg Evening Tribune._
* * * * *
"Nevertheless a strong Bulgarophone and Turkophone feeling prevails
in Greece, especially in military circles."
_Balkan News_ (_Salonika_).
"Master's Voice," we presume.
* * * * *
"'Theodore Wolff says:--'Other peace orators have followed Lord
Loreburn and Lord Courtney in the House of Lords. One must not
awaken the belief that such prophets can accomplish miracles of
conversation in a day.'"--_Winnipeg Evening Tribune._
We think Herr Wolff underestimates Lord Courtney's powers in this
direction.
[Illustration: ECONOMY IN LUXURIES.
First Philistine. "I'm All With the Government Over This Closing Of
Museums. I Never Touch 'em Myself."
Second Philistine. "Same Here. Waiter, Get Me a Couple of Stalls for The
Frivolity."]
[Illustration: AT OUR PATRIOTIC BAZAAR.
_Devoted Stall-holder._ "I hardly like to ask you, Mr. Thrush, but the
Committee would be so grateful if you would write one of your sweet
verses on each of these eggs for wounded soldiers!"]
* * * * *