ance like enormous nests. They are greatly in demand at the dinner
hour; you dine thirty feet up in the air, and your food is brought up by
a rope and pulley.

When M. Flamaran appeared on the platform he took off his hat, and leaned
with both hands on the railing to give a look around. The attitude
suggested a public speaker. His big gray head was conspicuous in the
light of the setting sun.

"He's going to make a speech!" cried a voice. "Bet you he isn't," replied
another.

This was the signal. A rustling was heard among the leaves, and numbers
of inquisitive faces peeped out from all corners of the garden. A general
rattling of glasses announced that whole parties were leaving the tables
to see what was up. The waiters stopped to stare at Chestnut Number 3.
The whole population of Juan Fernandez was staring up at Flamaran without
in the least knowing the reason why.

"Gentlemen," said a voice from an arbor, "Professor Flamaran will now
begin his lecture."

A chorus of shouts and laughter rose around our tree.

"Hi, old boy, wait till we're gone!"

"Ladies, he will discourse to you on the law of husband and wife!"

"No, on the foreclosure of mortgages!"

"No, on the payment of debts!"

"Oh, you naughty old man! You ought to be shut up!"

M. Flamaran, though somewhat put out of countenance for the moment, was
seized with a happy inspiration. He stretched out an arm to show that he
was about to speak. He opened his broad mouth with a smile of fatherly
humor, and the groves, attentive, heard him thunder forth these words:

"Boys, I promise to give you all white marks if you let me dine in
peace!"

The last words were lost in a roar of applause.

"Three cheers for old Flamaran!"

Three cheers were given, followed by clapping of hands from various
quarters, then all was silence, and no one took any further notice of our
tree.

M. Flamaran left the railing and unfolded his napkin.

"You may be sure of my white marks, young men," he said, as he sat down.

He was delighted at his success as an orator, and laughed gayly. Jupille,
on the other hand, was as pale as if he had been in a street riot, and
seemed rooted to the spot where he stood.

"It's all right, Jupille; it's all right, man! A little ready wit is all
you need, dash my wig!"

The old clerk gradually regained his composure, and the dinner grew very
merry. Flamaran's spirits, raised by this little incident, never flagged.
He had a story for