“Sir, I was at Bellaviste when King Michael came of age. You bet I made things hum in New York with my reports of the festivities, and the other specials had to fly around to get even with me, but when it came to Count Mortimer’s dismissal the ‘Crier’ fairly took the cake. The hours I spent hanging around at that Palace, working up all the ins and outs of the affair from the servants and minor officials! But it paid, sir, it paid. I wrote up the incident for the paper in my most elegant style--real high-toned dramatic situations, heart-rending pathos, and all the rest. I tell you, Mr Mansfield, those sheets were wet with the scalding tears of the most beautiful women in America. The Four Hundred was divided; half the ladies took the Queen’s side, and half the Count’s--and where will you find a stronger testimony to the fairness with which I had done my work? There wasn’t a likeness of either of ’em left in a single store from one end of the Union to the other. And having gone into the case to that extent, you tell me I’m not even in the ring!” “By the bye,” said Mansfield, still impenitent, “what miles of interviews you must be sending off to your paper every day now!” “I am doing my duty to the ‘Crier,’ sir. I was sent out to keep an eye on all the proceedings in this transfer of Palestine, in which my country has as large an interest as yours, and I am informed that all the Churches in the States are subscribing to the paper since my descriptive articles on the crisis started to appear. There’s not a half-starved home missionary or a New Rush school-ma’am out West but cherishes the hope of seeing Palestine before sending in their checks at last, and they all calculate to have a share in the country. We are giving ’em what they want--not a move in this high political game but they hear of it, and if intelligent interest was allowed any weight, the territory would be ours. But since it’s not likely that your played-out old Powers will conclude to appoint America the guardian of Palestine, as they ought to do if they want the property developed to any extent, why, I am booming your boss all I know. When the pinch comes, the great American nation will hurl itself solid on the side of Cyril de B. Mortimer, and it would not surprise me if he took his stand under the fostering wings of the American eagle. He knows who are his friends, and would as lief do a deal with ’em in a friendly spirit as not. He gives me an item or two most every day for my paper, and is ready all the time to favour me with his opinions,--not like some of your fine old crusted diplomats, who wouldn’t open their mouths to save their lives. Now there was Sir Dugald Haigh, a real petrified old chunk of British oak, no less. I was in Ethiopia for the paper at the time of his Mission, close upon fifteen years ago now, and not a word to be got out of any of ’em. Kept me fooling around the servants’ quarters, trying to find out what they were doing, and wasting my valuable time.