"'Mon colonel,' says a former minister iv th' Fr-rinch governmint, who was th' polisman at th' dure, 'Judge Crazy th' Boorepare is here, demandin' to be heard.'
"'Gr-reat hivins!' says th' coort; an' they wint out through th' windows.
"That night they was gr-reat excitement in Rennes. Th' citizens dhrivin home their cows cud har'ly make their way through th' excited throngs on th' sthreet. Th' corryspondints iv th' English papers do not dare to go to bed befure nine o'clock on account iv rumors iv a gin'ral massacre. Madame Sara Bernhardt gave a magnificint performance at th' theaytre, an' was wildly cheered. It was believed in London, Budapesth, Posen, New York, Cookham, an' Upper Sandusky that Fr-rance is about to perish. As I go to press, th' news has excited no commint in Fr-rance."
III.
"While th' thrillin' scenes I'm tellin' ye about is goin' on, Hinnissy, worse is bein' enacted in beautiful Paris. In that lovely city with its miles an' miles iv sparklin' resthrants,—la belly Paree, as Hogan 'd say,—th' largest American city in th' wurruld, a rivolution's begun. If ye don't believe it, read th' pa-apers. They've arrested a pote. That was all r-right; f'r Fr-rance is sufferin' fr'm too much pothry that 'll scan, as Hogan says, an' too much morality that won't. They ought to be a rule f'r th' polis to pinch anny pote caught poting between th' hours iv twelve an' twelve. But th' mistake th' chief iv th' polis made was to r-run in a butcher at th' same time. What th' butcher done I dinnaw; but annyhow they accused him iv wantin' to poleaxe th' governmint; an' they thrun him into a cell. Now th' butcher he had a frind be th' name iv Guerin,—an Irish name it is, but this la-ad don't appear to be wan iv us,—Jools Guerin. He was wanst in th' thripe business; but he is now r-runnin' a newspaper, like most iv th' people iv Fr-rance. As a thripe butcher, his circulation was larger an' among a betther class than his newspaper. Bein' a la-ad with a fine sinse iv gratichood, an' havin' been wanst fed an' clothed be a Jew man, he calls his pa-aper th' Anti-Jew; an' its principle is, whin ye see a Jew, hand him a crack in th' jaw. 'Tis a good principle, though I wanst knew a man be th' name iv Solomon Felsenthal, that was known in th' ring as Mike Gallegher, th' Tipp'rary Cyclone, as a thribute to th' feelin's iv th' pathrons iv spoort; an', if Jools had thried to carry out his platform with Solly, they'd be no siege in Fort Chabrool. Not anny. That Jew man 'd been champeen iv th' wurruld if all iv him cud 've kept out iv close quarthers with th' man again him.
"I don't quarrel with Jools' feelin's, mind ye. 'Tis th' histhry iv th' wurruld that th' Jews takes our watches fr'm us be tin per cint a month, an' we take thim back be means iv a jimmy an' a piece iv lead pipe. They're on'y two known methods iv finance,—bankin' an' burglary. Th' Jews has th' first down fine, but all th' rest iv th' wurruld is at home in th' second. So Jools's all r-right as far as he goes. But he don't go far.
"Well, whin Jools hear-rd that his frind th' butcher was sloughed up, he wint fairly wild. He says to himsilf, he says, 'I'll go home,' he says, 'an' defy th' governmint,' he says. 'I'll start a rivolution,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'I must first notify th' polis,' he says, 'so's to prevint disordher,' he says. So he wint to th' chief iv polis, who was an ol' frind iv his,—they was in th' same newspaper office or thripe dairy or something,—an' th' chief kissed Jools, an' asked him what he cud do f'r him. 'I wish,' said Jools, 'ye'd sind down tin or a dozen good men in uniform an' a few detectives in citizen's clothes,' he says.
"I've asked some ladies an' gintlemen to a five o'clock rivolution at my house,' he says; 'an' I'd like to be sure they'll be no disordher,' he says. 'Well,' says th' chief, ''twill not be aisy,' he says. 'Ye see th' prisident—I f'rget his name—has been asked to go to th' r-races with some frinds,' he says; 'an' they will prob'bly thry to kill him,' he says. 'We can't play anny fav'rites here,' he says. 'We have to protect th' low as well as th' high,' he says. 'If annything happens to this man, th' case is li'ble to be taken up be th' ex-prisidents' association; an' they're num'rous enough to make throuble f'r us,' he says. 'But,' he says, 'I'll do what I can f'r ye, me ol' frind,' he says. 'Give us th' best ye have,' says Jools; 'an', if ye've nawthin' to do afther ye close up, ye might dhrop in,' he says, 'an' have a manifesto with us,' he says. 'Come just as ye ar-re,' he says. ''Tis an informal rivolution,' he says.
"An' away he wint. At sharp five o'clock th' rivolution begun. Th' sthreets was dinsely packed with busy journalists, polis, sojers, an' fash'nably dhressed ladies who come down fr'm th' Chang's All Easy in motocycles. There was gr-reat excitement as Jools come to th' windy an' pinned a copy iv his vallyable journal on th' sill, accompanied be a thrusty liftnant wavin' a statement iv th' circulation iv th' Anti-Jew. Jools at this moment was a tur-rble sight. He was dhressed fr'm head to foot in Harveyized, bomb-proof steel, with an asbestos rose in his buttonhole. Round his waist was sthrapped four hundherd rounds iv ca'tridges an' eight days' provisions. He car-rid a Mauser rifle on each shoulder, a machine gun undher wan ar-rm, a dinnymite bomb undher another, an' he was smoking a cigareet. 'Ladies an' gintlemen,' he says, 'I'm proud an' pleased to see ye prisint in such lar-rge numbers at th' first rivolution iv th' prisint season,' he says. 'With th' kind permission iv th' hated polis undher th' di-rection iv me good frind an' fellow-journalist, Loot Franswoo Coppere, an' th' ar-rmy, f'r whose honor ivry Fr-renchman 'll lay down his life, th' siege will now begin. We will not,' he says, 'lave this house till we have driven ivry cur-rsed Cosmypollitan or Jew,' he says, 'fr'm this noble land iv th' br-rave an' home iv th' flea,' he says. 'Veev Fr-rance!' he says. 'Veev Jools Guerin!' he says. 'Conspuez Rothscheeld!' he says. 'It's ye'er move, Loot,' he says to th' polisman.