ly not been shaken out of the window, but had
actually spent the night inside of the cover, butting his head against
the keys, having no wall to butt with it, and most singular of all was
the fact that, consciously or unconsciously, the insect had butted out
a verse which read:

"'I'm glad I haven't any brains,
For there can be no doubt
I'd have to give up butting
If I had, or butt them out.'"

"Mercy! Really?" cried Angelica.

"Well I can't prove it," said Mr. Munchausen, "by producing the
June-bug, but I can show you the hotel, I can tell you the number of
the room; I can show you the type-writing machine, and I have recited
the verse. If you're not satisfied with that I'll have to stand your
suspicions."

"What became of the June-bug?" demanded Diavolo.

"He flew off as soon as I lifted the top of the machine," said Mr.
Munchausen. "He had all the modesty of a true poet and did not wish to
be around while his poem was being read."

"It's queer how you can't get rid of June-bugs, isn't it, Uncle
Munch," suggested Angelica.

"Oh, we got rid of 'em next season all right," said Mr. Munchausen. "I
invented a scheme that kept them away all the following summer. I got
the landlord to hang calendars all over the house with one full page
for each month. Then in every room we exposed the page for May and
left it that way all summer. When the June-bugs arrived and saw these,
they were fooled into believing that June hadn't come yet, and off
they flew to wait. They are very inconsiderate of other people's
comfort," Mr. Munchausen concluded, "but they are rigorously bound by
an etiquette of their own. A self-respecting June-bug would no more
appear until the June-bug season is regularly open than a gentleman of
high society would go to a five o'clock tea munching fresh-roasted
peanuts. And by the way, that reminds me I happen to have a bag of
peanuts right here in my pocket."

Here Mr. Munchausen, transferring the luscious goobers to Angelica,
suddenly remembered that he had something to say to the Imps' father,
and hurriedly left them.

"Do you suppose that's true, Diavolo?" whispered Angelica as their
friend disappeared.

"Well it might happen," said Diavolo, "but I've a sort of notion that
it's 'maginary like the Gillyhooly bird. Gimme a peanut."

XV

A LUCKY STROKE

"Mr. Munchausen," said Ananias, as he and the famous warrior drove off
from the first hole at the Missing Links, "you neve