Free The Metallic Muse by Jr. Lloyd Biggle

Finally he seized a quill and scribbled a few lines.
    The door opened almost before he touched the bell. “You rang, sir?”
    “About this speech. Want to ask your opinion about something.”
    “Certainly, sir.”
    “Beginning of a speech is very important, you know. Should catch the attention right from the first word. Universal appeal and all that sort of thing.”
    “I understand, sir.”
    “Wonder if you’d give me your opinion of this beginning.”
    “With pleasure, sir.”
    He cleared his throat and bellowed, “Now is the time—” He glanced up. The butler stood watching him attentively, alert interest in his grave face. “Do you think I might go better with more emphasis on the ‘now’?”
    “Why don’t you try it that way, sir?”
    “Mmm—yes. Now is the time—”
    “A decided improvement, sir.”
    “Thank you. Please don’t interrupt until I’ve finished.” He got to his feet, paced back and forth briefly, and struck a heroic pose. “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party.” He glanced at the butler. “What do you think?”
    “A most moving beginning, sir.”
    “Think it’ll do?”
    “I’m sure of it, sir.”
    “Tell me, James, just what is this speech supposed to be about?”
    “The Spanish crisis, sir. The entire nation is waiting to hear what the Duke of Wellington will have to say about it.”
    “Spanish crisis? Spain? Is that in Africa?” “No, sir. In Europe. It’s close to Africa.”
    “I was sure it was. I think, James, that I’d like to have the Duchess hear this beginning.”
    “Certainly, sir. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”
    He followed the butler, chuckling quietly to himself as James resolutely took the wrong turning and led him down the long corridor to the end of the east wing. James opened a door, glanced in, and turned to him blankly.
    “I’m sorry, sir. I thought she said the East Sewing Room.”
    They marched back along the corridor to the west wing. The Duchess was seated at the far end of the spacious room, talking quietly with a neatly dressed middle-aged woman. That would be the housekeeper, he told himself. Had he seen her somewhere before? He couldn’t recall. He noted their heaving bosoms with amusement, wondering where they’d been that they had to dash back with such haste.
    “I have a beginning for my speech,” he said. “I want you to hear it.” “I’d be delighted, dear.” He paced about nervously.
    “Go right ahead, dear,” she said soothingly. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
    “Now is the time,” he thundered, “for all good men to come to the aid of their party.”
    “Wonderful, dear. Is there more?”
    “No. That’s—that’s as far as I got.”
    “I’m sure Parliament will be delighted. You go right back and finish it.”
    As he stood staring at her she got to her feet and backed away anxiously. The butler stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his arm.
    “Where’s my harem?” he muttered.
    “Your—harem, sir?” the butler said, containing his amazement superbly.
    “Where’s my harem?” he shouted. “Just because the Duke of Wellington invites me—what did you do with my harem?”
    The Duchess and the housekeeper scurried out of the room in near panic.
    “You’ve embarrassed the ladies, Your Excellency,” the butler said. “Naturally the Duke couldn’t permit your harem here—politics, you know. But if you’ll come with me, I’ll be glad to take you.” ,
    He permitted himself to be led away. With the butler’s plodding assistance he attired himself in robes and a turban, awkwardly mounted a camel that awaited him at the front door, and rode off through the park with an escort dashingly mounted on prancing Arabian horses.
    On the far side of the park they came to a tent village. The last tents were just going up, and the turbaned workers were perspiring in the crisp fall air.
    A rotund, turbaned figure darted from the nearest tent robes trailing, sank to his