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Updated: June 4, 2025
"Produce what you like, Mr. Premier; I will no longer stand in your way." The brief autumn session was closing with a clangor of agitation which had not been heard in Jingalo for half a century at least.
Hands down popular opinion had won; for in this matter of "the new censorship" as it was called in this attack upon the interests and liberties, not of a foolish minority, but of a sacred and freedom-loving public, Jingalo and its monarch had joined forces, and bureaucracy was dethroned. The King was much puzzled over the whole affair; and his advisers did their best to keep him mystified.
Even now, at this very moment, the great heart of Jingalo is throbbing from plushed stalls to gallery stair-rail. Because of you The Gaudy Girl is playing its third night to an accompaniment of hilarious riot and uproar such as have not been known in our dramatic world since the public was forced to give up its right to free sittings." The King was startled; some alarm crept into his voice.
The King had done something which according to the accepted canons was quite incorrect; he had been to a frivolous but popular play during the penitential season and it had got into the papers. But instead of being blamed for it he had gained enormously in popularity. But John of Jingalo had all the defects which belong to a conscientious character.
And Jingalo, that well-represented State governed by the popular will, knows nothing of what has been done; like a body in absolute health it is unconscious of the working of those vital functions so necessary for its constitutional development.
And so in the year of his Jubilee, and the plenitude of his popularity, John of Jingalo continued to reign; and was, in consequence, the most saddened and humiliated monarch who ever bowed his head under a crown and resigned his freedom to a mixed sense of duty and a fear of what people might say. There was plenty of hue and cry to discover the perpetrator of the outrage, but nothing came of it.
The King of Jingalo had just finished breakfast in the seclusion of the royal private apartments. Turning away from the pleasantly deranged board he took up one of the morning newspapers which lay neatly folded upon a small gilt-legged table beside him. Then he looked at his watch.
WE do utterly renounce, relinquish, and abjure all claim to rank, titles, honors, emoluments, and privileges holden by US in virtue of OUR inheritance and succession as true and rightful Sovereign Lord of the said Realm of Jingalo.
Still clamoring and thrusting up hands for backsheesh they kept pace with him. A few of them started singing again, and the rest joined in: perhaps singing was what the gentleman liked best and so a better way for gaining their end. The shrill voices fell into chorus; and to a queer lilting tune the words rang clear. "Come to me Quietlee, Do not do me an injuree! Gently, Johnnie of Jingalo."
And then a pile of six large volumes "with Professor Teller's humble duty" was brought in and set down before him; and John of Jingalo sat down to read the marked passages. It was a reading that for its completion extended over many days.
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