"Twenty-one dev----developments!" cried Mr. P; "Why, what do you mean?"

"Information, sir; fifty cents a word; forty-two words; twenty-one
dollars."

It must not be supposed that Mr. P. submitted tamely to this outrage,
but after a long dispute, it was agreed to refer the matter to the
arbitration of three of the principal citizens. They promptly decided
that the charge was just and must be paid, but, owing to Mr. P.'s
earnest protestations, they agreed to throw out the "ahs," as being of
doubtful value as information. The sum thus saved to Mr. P. exactly paid
for drinks for the party.

Mr. P. now very sensibly concluded that it was about time to leave, if
his editors, his printers, and the employés in his pun-factory were to
expect any pay that week, and so he set out for home in the evening,
taking a shortcut by the way of Montreal.

He thought that a day might be very profitably spent here, especially if
he could fall in with any of the French-Canadians, of whose
peculiarities he had heard so much. The study of human nature was always
Mr. P.'s particular forte.

On the morning of his arrival, Mr. P. met, in the dining-room of the
hotel, a gentleman who was unmistakably a Frenchman, and being in
Canada, was probably Canadian. As they were sitting together at the
table, Mr. P., having mentally rubbed up his knowledge of the French
language, addressed his companion thus: