THE COWARDS' RACE.


The warning sounded loud and threatening in Mr. Kretschmer's
ears--"The Russians are coming!" A cold chill ran through him, and
he could not prevent an involuntary shudder. But he tried to rouse
himself from this despondency, and laughed at himself for this
credulous fear.

"This Pfannenstiel is a fool, and I would he a greater one if I
believed his nonsense," said he. "No, no, my information is warranted
and authentic. The king has had a sharp skirmish with the Russians
near Reitwan, and driven them back, and then proceeded quietly to
Meissen. Thus there is no ground for anxiety, and I can safely let off
my bomb-shells against the Russians."

Mr. Kretschmer felt his courage return and his heart grow warm.

"Now I see the whole game," cried he, laughing. "Pfannenstiel wishes
the _Vossian Gazette_ to take notice of him. He wants to be talked
about, and wishes the newspapers to spread his reputation. For that
reason he stationed himself right under my window, for that reason he
cast such significant looks at me, for that reason he addressed the
crowd and poured forth his nonsense right here. Yes, that's it! He
wishes to prove to me how great his power is over this people
which believes in him, even when he utters the most incredible and
unheard-of things. Well, we can help the man," continued he,
laughing, as he stepped to his desk. "The desired article for the
'Miscellaneous' is found, and I think that the prophetic linen-weaver,
Pfannenstiel, is well worth more than the four children at a birth and