The telegram， which had remained unintelligible to theAnchurian linguists who had applied to it in vain theirknowledge of Spanish and elemental English， conveyeda stimulating piece of news to Goodwin’s understanding.
It informed him that the president of the republic haddecamped from the capital city with the contents ofthe treasury. Furthermore， that he was accompanied inhis flight by that winning adventuress Isabel Guilbert，the opera singer， whose troupe of performers had beenentertained by the president at San Mateo during thepast month on a scale less modest than that with whichroyal visitors are often content. The reference to the“jackrabbit line” could mean nothing else than the mulebacksystem of transport that prevailed between Coralioand the capital. The hint that the “boodle” was “sixfigures short” made the condition of the national treasurylamentably clear. Also it was convincingly true that theingoing party—its way now made a pacific one—wouldneed the “spondulicks.” Unless its pledges should befulfilled， and the spoils held for the delectation of thevictors， precarious indeed， would be the position of thenew government. Therefore it was exceeding necessary to“collar the main guy，” and recapture the sinews of war andgovernment.
Goodwin handed the message to Keogh.
“Read that， Billy，” he said. “It’s from Bob Englehart. Canyou manage the cipher？”
Keogh sat in the other half of the doorway， and carefullyperused the telegram.
“’Tis not a cipher，” he said， finally. “’Tis what they callliterature， and that’s a system of language put in the mouthsof people that they’ve never been introduced to by writersof imagination. The magazines invented it， but I neverknew before that President Norvin Green had stamped itwith the seal of his approval. ’Tis now no longer literature，but language. The dictionaries tried， but they couldn’tmake it go for anything but dialect. Sure， now that theWestern Union indorses it， it won’t be long till a race ofpeople will spring up that speaks it.”
“You’re running too much to philology， Billy，” saidGoodwin. “Do you make out the meaning of it？”
“Sure，” replied the philosopher of Fortune. “All languagescome easy to the man who must know ’em. I’ve even failedto misunderstand an order to evacuate in classical Chinesewhen it was backed up by the muzzle of a breech-loader.
This little literary essay I hold in my hands means a gameof Fox-in-the-Morning. Ever play that， Frank， when youwas a kid？”
“I think so，” said Goodwin， laughing. “You join hands all’round， and—”
“You do not，” interrupted Keogh. “You’ve got a finesporting game mixed up in your head with ‘All Around theRosebush.’ The spirit of ‘Fox-in-the-Morning’ is opposedto the holding of hands. I’ll tell you how it’s played. Thispresident man and his companion in play， they stand upover in San Mateo， ready for the run， and shout： ‘Fox-inthe-Morning！’ Me and you， standing here， we say： ‘Gooseand Gander！’ They say： ‘How many miles is it to Londontown？’ We say： ‘Only a few， if your legs are long enough.
How many comes out？’ They say： ‘More than you’re ableto catch.’ And then the game commences.”
“I catch the idea，” said Goodwin. “It won’t do to let thegoose and gander slip through your fingers， Billy； theirfeathers are too valuable. Our crowd is prepared and ableto step into the shoes of the government at once； but withthe treasury empty we’d stay in power about as long as atenderfoot would stick on an untamed bronco. We mustplay the fox on every foot of the coast to prevent theirgetting out of the country.”
“By the mule-back schedule，” said Keogh， “it’s five daysdown from San Mateo. We’ve got plenty of time to setour outposts. There’s only three places on the coast wherethey can hope to sail from—here and Solitas and Alazan.
They’re the only points we’ll have to guard. It’s as easy asa chess problem—fox to play， and mate in three moves.
Oh， goosey， goosey， gander， whither do you wander？ Bythe blessing of the literary telegraph the boodle of thisbenighted fatherland shall be preserved to the honestpolitical party that is seeking to overthrow it.”