The Man On The Box

I admire the English diplomat; he never wastes a lie. He is frugal and saving. "But the newspapers!" cried the journalist. "They never ran a line; and an exploit like this would scarce have escaped them." "If I remember rightly, it was reported in the regular police items of the day," said I. "Strange that the boys didn't look behind the scenes." "Oh, I don't know," remarked the congressman; "lots of things happen of which you are all ignorant. The public mustn't know everything." "But what's the hero's name?" asked the journalist. "That's a secret," I answered. "Besides, when it comes to the bottom of the matter, I had something to do with the suppressing of the police news. In a case like this, suppression becomes a law not excelled by that which governs self-preservation. My friend has a brother in the War Department; and together we worked wonders." "It's a jolly droll story, however you look at it," the Englishman admitted. "Nevertheless, it had its tragic side; but that is even more than ever a secret." The Englishman looked at me sharply, even gravely; but the veranda is only dimly illuminated at night, and his scrutiny went unrewarded. "Eh, well!" said the Russian; "your philosopher has observed that all mankind loves a lover."