"Roses red, violets blue, send snow."

Later at the State Department the only person who did not eventually
pardon my jest was the clerk who had sat up until three in the morning
with my cable, trying to fit it to any known code.

Immediately after my return to the Hotel Venezuela Schnitzel excused
himself, and half an hour later returned in triumph with the cable
operator and ordered lunch for both. They imbibed much sweet champagne.

When we again were safe at sea, I said: "Schnitzel, how much did you pay
that Frenchman to let you read my second cable?"

Schnitzel's reply was prompt and complacent.

"One hundred dollars gold. It was worth it. Do you want to know how I
doped it out?"

I even challenged him to do so. "'Roses red'--war declared; 'violets
blue'--outlook bad, or blue; 'send snow'--send squadron, because the
white squadron is white like snow. See? It was too easy."

"Schnitzel," I cried, "you are wonderful!"

Schnitzel yawned in my face.

"Oh, you don't have to hit the soles of my feet with a night-stick to
keep me awake," he said.