Life — April 5, 1883 — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Il. On the day fol- lowing the occur- rences that have been recorded, a Third Avenue car driver on his down trip strangély re- frained from lash- ing the off horse. Between Bleecker and Houstonstreets =< the horse remarked to the driver: “Slew me off and wait for horses from the next car,” Without a word the driver slewed the off horse off as requested. This was a triumph of detective work, though per- haps the reader does not see it now. The horse was the detective. The disguise was perfect. As soon as the detective was unharnessed he trotted to Headquarters and reported that all was well. The report was sent to the newspapers, but was not printed. Ill. “ Have the domestics wound up the 700 clocks that I accumulated in Asia?” the General inquired of his valet. The valet respectfully replied in the affirmative. “Hand me the dressing gown marked ‘ Budjpoot- nah, 37,’ half a dozen of the cigars presented to me by the municipality of Havana, the diamond match box that I received from the lamented Emperor of Russia, the slippers wrought in the Harem at Alexandria, and a glass of water. I shall retire shortly to the bed _for- warded to my address by the Count Chambord.” “ Are the new tags satisfactory, your Excellency ?” “Perfectly. If the detective calls, tell him that his services are no longer required.” The valet withdrew. The detective called a few min- utes afterward. He was full of hope. The valet said to him: “The tagging was wrong. A number was accident- ally skipped, making the collection seem larger than it really The real number of objects in the collec- tion is 17,836. We have just accomplished a new tag- ging, and a revised catalogue is to be made out. Noth- ing at all is stolen. The General thanks you, and hopes that you will attain to eminence in your career.” A flush of gratified pride played for an instant inthe detective’s face. By a stern exercise of will he dis- missed it, and turned his attention to the $97,000,000 case. The son of the Staten Island Proprietor was seated in a small fortune in the way of an arm-chair with his feet extended upon seyeral thousand dollars’ worth of Turkish ottoman when the detective was ushered into his presence. “T have to report gratifying progress in this case,” the detective said. “I have successfully traversed a - LIFE: section of the Bowery as a horse, and I believe that I am on the point of recovering the $97,000,000 that you lost.” “ René !" called the millionaire. “Yes, sorr,” replied a richly liveried servant, silent- ly entering the apartment. “Didn't we find that pocket-book?” “Yes, sorr. The milkman found it in th’ airy an’ gave it to the cook, an’ the cook put itin the clock.” “ Bring it up, René.” “Yes, sorr.” The pocket-book was brought. The millionaire counted the money it contained and found the amount correct—$97,000,000, “Did you count the other pocketbooks in my draw- er this morning ?” “Ves, sorr; there’s wan hundhred an thurtane.” “Tt's all right,” the millionaire said to the detective. “T had 114 pocket-books, each containing a like amount, and they are all accounted for.” The detective gave a long, low whistle, and after apologizing for doing so, withdrew. IV, It may be well to devote a short chapter to the ex- planation of one or two points. The sparrow was really of no advantage in this case, for the reason that he pointed his tail the wrong way. If the sparrow had pointed his tail the right way, the detective would have been justified in permitting him- self to be influenced by the suggestion thereby offered in any degree which the circumstances warranted. As things turned out, it was not necessary for the de- tective to disguise himself as a horse. But how could he have know that? In the light of subsequent events, it would have been equally futile if he had become a whale or a mule, The name of René was given to the millionaire’s servant by the millionaire’s wife, who did not like the man’s real name. His real name was Van Rensselaer, E, D, B. TO A PUNSTER. H, Bonmot, you're a sorry wag; So hard you spur your tired nag, That all your friends exclaim aghast : “There goes the funny Bonmot past !” ‘Then turning to their ale and chop They gasp, “Thank Heaven he didn’t stop !” A PHILOSOPHICAL son of Erin was overheard remark- ing to a friend, “ Have a good time while you live, for you're a long while dead !” W. W. K. fe comicbooks.com