“Still he can't be persuaded f'r to apply f'r th' vacant improrship on account iv his lungs, till wan day a tailor shows up to measure him f'r some clothes. Th' tailor d'ye mind is a rivolutionist in disguise, an' has come down fr'm Paris f'r to injooce th' young man to take th' vacancy. 'Fourteen, six, thirty-three. How'll ye have th' pants made, Impror?' says th' tailor. 'Wan or two hip pockets?' says he.
“'Two hips,' says young Napolyon. 'What do ye mean be that?'” he says.
“'Thirty-eight, siventeen, two sides, wan watch, buckle behind. All Paris awaits ye, sire.'”
“'Make th' sleeves a little longer thin this,' says th' boy. 'An' fill out th' shouldhers. What proof have I?'”
“'Wan or two inside pockets?' says th' tailor. 'Two insides. Hankerchief pocket? Wan hankerchief. Th' pants is warn much fuller this year. Make that twinty-eight instid iv twinty-siven,' he says. 'Paris shrieks f'r ye,' he says.
“'Proof,' says th' la-ad.
“'They've named a perfume afther ye, a shirt waist, a paper collar, a five cint seegar, a lot iv childer. Nay more, a breakfast dish christened f'r ye is on ivry lip. Will I forward th' soot collect?' he says.
“'No, sind th' bill to me mother,' says th' boy. 'An' meet me in th' park at tin,' he says.
“So 'tis planned to seize th' throne, but it comes to nawthin'.”
“Why's that?” asked Mr. Hennessy.