hang-dog air, and I was not
much comforted when the President broke the stillness of the night by
saying:

"You have set your foot on the first rung of the ladder that leads to
fame and wealth, Mr. Martin."

I was rather afraid I had set it on the first rung of the ladder that
leads to the gallows. But there the foot was; what the ladder turned
out to be was in the hands of the gods; so I threw off care, and as we
entered the Piazza I pointed to the statue and said:

"Behold my inspiring example, your Excellency."

"By Jove, yes!" he replied; "I make the most of my opportunities."

I knew he regarded me as one of his opportunities, and was making the
most of me. This is not a pleasant point of view to regard one's self
from, so I changed the subject, and said:

"Shall we call for Don Antonio?"

"Why?"

"Well, as he's Minister of Finance, I thought perhaps his presence
would make the matter more regular."

"If the presence of the President," said that official, "can't make
a matter regular, I don't know what can. Let him sleep on. Isn't his
signature on the bonds enough?"

What could I do? I made one more weak objection:

"What shall we tell Jones?"

"What shall _we_ tell Jones?" he echoed. "Really, Mr. Martin, you must
use your discretion as to what you tell your employees. You can hardly
expect me to tell Jones anything, beyond that it's a fine morning."

We had now reached the bank, which stood in Liberty Street, a turning
out of the Piazza. I took out my key, unlocked the door, and we
entered together. We passed into my inner sanctum, where the safe
stood.

"What's it in?" asked the President.

"United States bonds, and bills on New York and London," I replied.

"Good," said he. "Let me look."

I undid the safe, and took out the securities. He examined them
carefully, placing each after due scrutiny in a small handbag, in
which he had brought down the bonds I was to receive. I stood by,
holding a shaded candle. At this moment a voice cried from the door:

"If you move you're dead men!"

I started and looked up. The President looked up without starting.
There was dear old Jones, descended from his upper chamber, where he
and Mrs. Jones resided. He was clad only in his night-shirt, and was
leveling a formidable gun full at the august head of his Excellency.

"Ah, Mr. Jones," said the latter "it's a fine morning."

"Good Heavens, the President!" cried Jones; "and Mr. Martin! Why, what
on eart