"I leave you to be the judge of that," Stromboli answered, and forthwith began upon—
THE ADVENTURE OF THE COUNTER-REVOLUTION.
"On escaping from my coffin, as I have told you, I hurried by way of Havre to New York—a city where revolutionists are treated with respect, and may even obtain municipal office by means of the Irish vote. I make no doubt I should have risen to some distinction of the kind, if another employment had not been found for me by private enterprise.
"It happened in an underground saloon bar—a 'dive' as it was called—which I frequented. I used to sit there in the company of some large-hearted Irishmen who had got into trouble with the British Government. We told each other stories of adventures, and I flatter myself that, as a story-teller, I held my own among them. But the crisis in my career arrived when I heard a strange but friendly voice at my elbow, speaking the one word—
"'Cocktail?'
"I accepted the invitation and turned round to inspect my host. As he was well-dressed, my first impression was that he was a young man of fashion—a 'dude,' in fact—engaged in seeing life. His manner, however, was not languid enough for that, and the look in his eyes was too keen.
"He watched me closely and drew to the other end of the saloon, where we could talk without being overheard. Then he jerked out—
"'Say, now! Those stories you've been tellin'—partly true, s'pose?'
"'Sir,' I said, 'if you have only offered me hospitality for the purpose of throwing doubt upon my word——'
"The stranger apologised, and, after a pause, approached the subject from a fresh point of view.