The Lighted Match

"Your Majesty--" demurred Von Ritz in a tone of deep protest.

The King swept his arm back as one who brushes an unimportant intruder

into the background.

"And we must talk," went on Karyl vehemently, "as two men, not as one

man and a puppet."

The American stood looking on at the violence of the King's outburst

with a sense of deep sympathy. Again the Colonel stepped forward with an

interposed objection.

"If I may suggest--" he began in an emotionless inflection which fell in

startling contrast with the surcharged vehemence of the other. Then he

halted in the midst of his sentence as Karyl wheeled passionately to

face him.

"My God, Colonel!" cried the King. "There is not a debt of gratitude in

life that I do not owe to you--I and my house! I am crushed under my

obligations to you. You have been our strength, our one loyal support,

and yet there are times when you madden me!" The officer stood waiting,

respectful, impersonal, until the flood of words should subside, but for

a while Karyl swept agitatedly on.

"You wear a sword, Von Ritz, which any monarch in Europe would hire at

your own price. Any government would let you name what titles and honors

you wished in payment--"

"Your Majesty!"

"Forgive me, I know your sword is not for sale. I mean no such

intimation. I mean only that it has a value. I mean you are a man, and

the game to you is the large one of statecraft. It is really you who

rule this Kingdom. Ah, yes, you remonstrate, but I tell you it is true,

and the damnable shame is that it is not a Kingdom worthy of your

genius! You, Von Ritz, are the engine, the motive force--but I--in God's

holy name, what am I?"

He raised his hands questioningly, appealingly.

"You," replied the older soldier calmly, "are the King."

"Yes," Karyl caught up the words almost before they had fallen from the

lips of the other. "Yes, I am the King. I am the miserable, gilded

figurehead out on the prow, which serves no end and no purpose. I am

the ornamental symbol of a system which the world is discarding! I am a

medieval lay figure upon which to hang these tinsel decorations, these

ribbons!"

"Your Majesty is excited."

"No, by God, I am only heartbroken--and I am through!" The King's hands

dropped at his sides. The passion died out of his voice and eyes,

leaving them those of a man who is very tired. For a moment there was

silence. It was broken by the American.

"Pagratide," he asked, "why did you send for me?"

The King stood rigid with the illuminating shaft from the door touching

into high-lights the polish of his boots and the burnish of his

accouterments. Finally he turned and in a voice now deadly quiet

countered with another question.