I suppose I was little better myself when I unveiled
the Genius of Muskegon. The master walked about it
seriously; then he smiled.
"It is already not so bad," said he, in that funny
English of which he was so proud; "no, already not so
bad."
We all drew a deep breath of relief; and Corporal John
(as the most considerable junior present) explained to
him it was intended for a public building, a kind of
prefecture.
"HE! QUOI?" cried he, relapsing into French.
"QU'EST-CE QUE VOUS ME CHANTEZ LA? O, in America," he
added, on further information being hastily furnished.
"That is anozer sing. O, very good--very good."
The idea of the required certificate had to be
introduced to his mind in the light of a pleasantry--
the fancy of a nabob little more advanced than the Red
Indians of "Fennimore Cooperr"; and it took all our
talents combined to conceive a form of words that would
be acceptable on both sides. One was found, however:
Corporal John engrossed it in his undecipherable hand,
the master lent it the sanction of his name and
flourish, I slipped it into an envelope along with one
of the two letters I had ready prepared in my pocket,
and as the rest of us moved off along the boulevard to
breakfast, Pinkerton was detached in a cab and duly
committed it to the post.
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