POST MORTEM
The President. Miles, Commander of the Army. Root, Secretary of War. Loeb, Private Secretary to President. Hull, Chairman of Committee on Military Affairs. An Orderly.
ACT I
Headquarters of the Army.
MILES (in bed):
What ho, there! orderly—I say, I say!
Bring in my breakfast. What’s the time o’ day?
What? six o’clock!—and day’s already broke?
I’m too late to escape him. Holy smoke!
I think I hear his footstep on the stair—
But no, it is not his: there is no blare
Of a great trumpet strenuously blown—
That veritable tuba mirum known
To have sounded once the charge at Kettle Hill
(After ’twas made) and to be sounding still.
ORDERLY:
Perhaps he will not come.
MILES:
Perhaps, perhaps—
Yet well I know those War Department chaps
Have told him of my novel plan that places
The Army on a military basis.
Ne’er mind the breakfast; I’ll get up and fly
Before the sun’s another minute high.
If I can by a masterly retreat
Escape him trust me to come back and eat.
ORDERLY:
There’s some one, sir, a-tryin’ to break in.
MILES:
O Lord, forgive my every little sin!
Seeing that I was going to be late
Developing my Plan, he would not wait,
He’s risen with the lark, alas, and brought
His answer to my unperfected thought.
He always was forehanded.
[Enter President.]
PRESIDENT:
I’ve no time
To let the punishment await the crime.
Take that, and that, and that! (beating him.)
MILES:
Of course, of course;
I’m firm in judgment, but I yield to force.
“Submission is a military virtue,”
The Regulations say, “howe’er it hurt you.”
I’ll now submit to buffets with sobriety,
And, later on, my view of their propriety,
Together with some pertinent suggestions
Touching important military questions.
PRESIDENT:
You may, and touching civil ones to boot;
Submit them, though, to Secretary Root.
[Enter Root.]
MILES:
Yes, but ’twould hearten me if you’d agree
To signify your mind to him, not me.
Seeing him lame I’ll know the views I deem
Correct are held by you in light esteem.
ROOT:
Don’t rub your bruises, man; that’s mutiny!
PRESIDENT:
And it demands official scrutiny.
I’ll summon a court-martial, sir, to “fire” you;
And if it finds you guiltless I’ll retire you.
You huff me anyhow. Dashnation, man,
The battle spirit, like a black-and-tan
Ranch dog, sits up and howls within my breast,
And it’s O, to bust a bronco in the West!
Fetch me that broomstick, soldier. Golly me!
I must ride something or I die.
ROOT (on hands and knees):
Ride me.
ACT II
The White House
LOEB:
O Mr. President, depress your ear
Till it enfold me, so that you may hear
Strange news of one departed—one that you
Have done to death: old Nelson Miles.
ROOSEVELT:
Go to!
There is no news of him; he’s dead as nails.
LOEB:
About him, though, they tell alarming tales.
’Tis said that he has moved an inch or so.
ROOSEVELT:
Go put a heavier stone upon him—go!
Confound the fellow! will he ne’er stay dead?
LOEB:
The worst is yet to come: they say his head
Is half-protruded from the tomb!
ROOSEVELT:
Quick, quick!
Go rap it roundly with the big, big stick.
LOEB:
Nay, that’s a weapon I’m too weak to wield.
(aside)
For anything I know, the corpse is “heeled.”
ROOSEVELT:
Where’s Colonel Hull? Command him to attack.
He’s brave and generous enough to crack
The skull of any dead man living. Take the stick.
[Exit Loeb.]
That rogue’s obedient, but he makes me sick.
[An hour elapses. Enter Hull.]
HULL:
The work is done: again he is no more—
He was half out. These red stains are his gore.
ROOSEVELT:
I trust you gave him a conclusive whack.
HULL:
Well, not exactly, but—I bit his back!