“I must say,” I observed, apologetically, “that the treatment was
barbarous, but really I do think it showed a sense of humor on the part
of the government.”
“No doubt,” replied Boswell, with a sigh; “but when the joke is on me I
don't enjoy it very much. I'm only human, and should prefer to observe
that the government had some sense of justice.”
The apparently empty chair before the machine gave a slight hitch
forward, and the type-writer began to tap again.
“You'll have to excuse me now,” observed Boswell through the usual
medium. “I have work to do, and if you'll go to bed like a good fellow,
while I copy off the minutes of the last meeting of the Authors' Club,
I'll see that you don't lose anything by it. After I get the minutes
done I have an interesting story for my Sunday paper from the advance
sheets of Munchausen's Further Recollections, which I shall take great
pleasure in leaving for you when I depart. If you will take the bundle
of manuscript I leave with you and boil it in alcohol for ten minutes,
you will be able to read it, and, no doubt, if you copy it off, sell it
for a goodly sum. It is guaranteed absolutely genuine.”
“Very well,” said I, rising, “I'll go; but I should think you would put
in most of your time whacking at the government editorially, instead of
going in for minutes and abstract stories of adventure.”
“You do, eh?” said Boswell. “Well, if you were in my place you'd change
your mind. After my unexpected endorsement by the Emperor and his
cabinet, I've decided to keep out of politics for a little while. I
can stand having a poem tattooed on my back, but if it came to having
a three-column editorial expressing my emotions etched alongside of my
spine, I'm afraid I'd disappear into thin air.”
So I left him at work and retired. The next morning I found the promised
bundle of manuscripts, and, after boiling the pages as instructed,
discovered the following tale.