eth?"

"Yes," cried Turnbull, advancing on him swiftly and with animated
gestures, "why does teething hurt? Why do growing pains hurt? Why are
measles catching? Why does a rose have thorns? Why do rhinoceroses have
horns? Why is the horn on the top of the nose? Why haven't I a horn on
the top of my nose, eh?" And he struck the bridge of his nose smartly
with his forefinger to indicate the place of the omission and then
wagged the finger menacingly at the Creator.

"I've often wanted to meet you," he resumed, sternly, after a pause, "to
hold you accountable for all the idiocy and cruelty of this muddled and
meaningless world of yours. You make a hundred seeds and only one bears
fruit. You make a million worlds and only one seems inhabited. What do
you mean by it, eh? What do you mean by it?"

The unhappy lunatic had fallen back before this quite novel form of
attack, and lifted his burnt-out cigarette almost like one warding off a
blow. Turnbull went on like a torrent.

"A man died yesterday in Ealing. You murdered him. A girl had the
toothache in Croydon. You gave it her. Fifty sailors were drowned off
Selsey Bill. You scuttled their ship. What have you got to say for
yourself, eh?"

The representative of omnipotence looked as if he had left most of these
things to his subordinates; he passed a hand over his wrinkling brow and
said in a voice much saner than any he had yet used:

"Well, if you dislike my assistance, of course--perhaps the other
gentleman----"

"The other gentleman," cried Turnbull, scornfully, "is a submissive
and loyal and obedient gentleman. He likes the people who wear crowns,
whether of diamonds or of stars. He believes in the divine right of
kings, and it is appropriate enough that he should have the king for his
second. But it is not appropriate to me that I should have God for my
second. God is not good enough. I dislike and I deny the divine right of
kings. But I dislike more and I deny more the divine right of divinity."

Then after a pause in which he swallowed his passion, he said to MacIan:
"You have got the right second, anyhow."

The Highlander did not answer, but stood as if thunderstruck with one
long and heavy thought. Then at last he turned abruptly to his second in
the silk hat and said: "Who are you?"

The man in the silk hat blinked and bridled in affected surprise, like
one who was in truth accustomed to be doubted.

"I am King Edward VII," he said, with shaky arroganc