(_Translated from the original French Canard._)
THEY were hunting him down. They had traced him from spot to spot. Now
he was in the barracks bribing the Army, now in the Ministerial Bureau
offering gold to the Members of the Government, now in the office of
the leading newspaper arranging for back pages in advertisements at
double the scale price. His pernicious influence was felt everywhere.
The whole body was permeated with a poisonous atmosphere of
corruption.
"We shall have him now," said the first detective, as he looked to the
lock of his revolver.
"No doubt about it," returned the other, as he loosed his sword in its
scabbard. "He cannot escape us."
Then the force of cavalry, infantry and artillery in attendance raised
a stealthy cheer. It had been difficult to bring the charges home to
the accused, but they had succeeded. It seemed impossible to prove his
identity, but now they had surrounded him. It was only a question of a
few minutes, and he would be their prisoner.
The detectives entered the _cafe_. They looked around them. They could
see no one answering to his description. All who were there had black
beards, black shaggy hair. They could see no red tresses, no yellow
Dundreary whiskers and prominent front teeth. Where could he be?
"Yes, there is one diner who has ordered a singular meal," replied a
_garcon_, in reply to a question. "He has asked for turtle-soup, raw
herrings, raw beef, raw mutton chops, plum-pudding and a barrel of
porter-beer."
"It must be he," cried the detectives, in a breath; "only an
Englishman would want such a meal."
"And he asked for the _Times_ and _Punch_," added the waiter.
"Proof conclusive of nationality;" and in a moment the man was
surrounded and seized.
"You dare not touch me," he shouted, battling with his captors. "I
am sacred, and if you offer violence you pledge your country to a
terrible war!"
Impressed by the stranger's vehemence, the detectives released him.
Once free, he threw off his black wig, took off his false nose, and
put on his blue spectacles. Then he gazed around him proudly.
"We ask your pardon, M. l'Ambassadeur," said the police.
"It is granted," returned their now-released prisoner, and he entered
his carriage. "I would have preferred to preserve my _incognito_, but
your interference has compelled me to reveal my identity. And now,
home."
And the coachman drove the Ambassador to a grand mansion in the Rue
Faubourg St. Honore.
SEQUEL (_from the original English_).
And when the Ambassador read the above, he came back to his native
land, and observed, "I think I have had enough of this."
And everyone at home agreed with him.
* * * * *
BY OUR OUT-AND-OUT-EVERY-EVENING MAN.--_Mem._ The only endurable
"Squash" in this hot weather is "Lemon Squash."
* * * * *