n giant said, while _he_ apparently
was hopelessly puzzled.

Even without an accompaniment of words, the policeman's pantomime was so
expressive, I fancy I should have guessed his meaning. With the grieved
dignity of a father taking to task an erring child, he taxed us with
having damaged a cart and injured a horse, causing it to run away. He
pointed to the distance. With an arching gesture he illustrated a mound
of hay (or clover?) rising from the vehicle; with a quick outward thrust
of hands and widespread fingers he pictured the alarm and frantic rush
of the horse; he showed us the creature running, then falling, then
limping as if hurt; he touched his knees to indicate the place of the
wound. What could the most elementary intelligence need more to
comprehend? Certainly it was enough for the crowd collected about us;
but it was not enough for Mr. Barrymore, who is an Irishman, and
cleverer about everything than any man I ever met. He sat still, with an
absolutely vacant though conscientious look on his face, as if he were
trying hard to snatch at an idea, but hadn't succeeded. When the
policeman finished, Mr. Barrymore sadly shook his head. "I wonder what
you mean?" he murmured mildly in English.

The Italian retold the story, his companion throwing a word into a pause
now and then. Both patient men articulated with such careful nicety that
the syllables fell from their mouths like clear-cut crystals. But Mr.
Barrymore shook his head again; then, suddenly, with a joyous smile he
seized a pocket-book from inside his coat. From this he tore out an
important-looking document stamped with a red seal, and pointed from it
to a lithographed signature at the foot.

"Foreign Secretary; Lansdowne--Lord Lansdowne," he repeated. "Inglese.
Inglese and Italiani sempre amici. Yes?" His smile embraced not only the
long-suffering policemen but the crowd, who nodded their heads and
laughed. Having made this effect, Mr. Barrymore whipped out another
impressive paper, which I could see was his _permis de Conduire_ from
the Department of Mines in Nice.

He pointed to the official stamp on this document, and with the
childlike pride of one who stammers a few words of a foreign tongue, he
exclaimed, "Nizza. Nizza la bella." With this, he looked the giants so
full and kindly in the face, and seemed to be so greatly enjoying
himself, that every one laughed again, and two young men cheered,
appearing to be rather ashamed of themselves af