-house, and all ze monkeys are pulling each ozer's
tails. I pull no tails, _moi_, and I allow no liberties to be
taken wiz my person."

About a month later the Baron was dining with us, and I reminded him
of what he had said. He laughed, shrugging his shoulders.

"_Mon cher_, ze monkeys in your backwoods are more--
_diable!_--moch more aggr-r-ressive zan ze monkeys in ze old
world."

"They pull tails there," said Ajax, "but here they pull legs as well--
eh?"

The Baron smiled ruefully, sticking out a slender, delicately formed
foot and ankle.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "old man Dumble, he pull my leg."

The Dumbles were neighbours of the Baron, and their sterile acres
marched with his. John Jacob Dumble's word might be as good or better
than his bond, but neither was taken at par. It was said of him that
he preferred to take cash for telling a lie rather than credit for
telling the truth. Dumble, as we knew, had sold the Baron one horse
and saddle, one Frisian-Holstein cow, and an incubator. The saddle
gave the horse a sore back, the horse fell down and broke its knees,
the cow dried up in a fortnight, and the incubator cooked eggs to
perfection, but it wouldn't incubate them.

"I use it as a stove," said the Baron.

Next summer, when the pretty lake dried up and began to smell, we
advised the Baron to take a holiday. We told him of pleasant,
hospitable people in San Francisco, in Menlo, and at Del Monte, who
would be charmed to make his acquaintance.

"San Francisco? _Jamais, jamais de la vie!_"

"Come with us to Del Monte?"

"Del Monte?"

We explained that Del Monte was a huge hotel standing in lovely
gardens which ran down to the sea.

"_Jamais--jamais_," repeated the Baron.

"We don't like to leave you at the mercy of John Jacob Dumble," said
Ajax.

"You have right. I make not harmony wiz ze old man Dumble."

We went home sorely puzzled. Obviously the Baron had private reasons,
and strong ones, for keeping out of San Francisco and Del Monte. And
it was significant--as Ajax said to me--that a man who could talk so
admirably upon art, politics, and literature never spoke a word
concerning himself.

At Del Monte we happened to meet the French Consul. From him we
learned that there was a certain Rene, Comte de Bourgueil-Crotanoy.
The Chateau Bourgueil-Crotanoy in Morbihan is nearly as famous as
Chaumont or Chenonceau. The Consul possessed an _Almanack de
Gotha_. From this we gleaned two more