and I tasted our first triumph in her cellar, whither we conducted Sir
Peter Grebe, the Crown-Prince of Monaco, Baron de Becasse, and his
Majesty King Christian of Finland.

Scepticism and incredulity gave place to excitement and unbounded
enthusiasm. The old King embraced the Countess; Baron de Becasse
attempted to kiss me; Sir Peter Grebe made a handsome apology for his
folly and vowed that he would do open penance for his sins. The poor
Crown-Prince, who was of a nervous temperament, sat on the
cellar-stairs and wept like a child.

His grief at his own pig-headedness touched us all profoundly.

So it happened that these gentlemen were coming to-night to give their
aid to us in moving the priceless eggs, and lend their countenance and
enthusiastic support to the young Countess in her maiden effort.

Sir Peter Grebe arrived first, all covered with orders and
decorations, and greeted us affectionately, calling the Countess the
"sweetest lass in France," and me his undutiful Yankee cousin who had
landed feet foremost at the expense of the British Empire.

The King of Finland, the Crown-Prince, and Baron de Becasse arrived
together, a composite mass of medals, sashes, and academy palms. To
see them moving boxes about, straightening chairs, and pulling out
rugs reminded me of those golden-embroidered gentlemen who run out
into the arena and roll up carpets after the acrobats have finished
their turn in the Nouveau Cirque.

I was aiding the King of Finland to move a heavy keg of nails, when
the Countess called out to me in alarm, saying that the thermometers
had dropped to 80 deg. Fahrenheit.

I spoke sharply to the plumbers, who were standing in a circle behind
the dressing-rooms; but they answered sullenly that they could do no
more work that day.

Indignant and alarmed, I ordered them to come out to the stage, and,
after some hesitation, they filed out, a sulky, silent lot of workmen,
with their tools already gathered up and tied in their kits. At once I
noticed that a new man had appeared among them--a red-faced, stocky
man wearing a frock-coat and a shiny silk hat.

"Who is the master-workman here?" I asked.

"I am," said a man in blue overalls.

"Well," said I, "why don't you fix those steam-fittings?"

There was a silence. The man in the silk hat smirked.

"Well?" said I.

"Come, come, that's all right," said the man in the silk hat. "These
men know their business without you tellin' them."

"Who a