"I think so. I am chief of the campaign committee at home."

"I beg your pardon. Then I know your quality. But it will possibly
interest you to learn that the bill of fare I have issued consists
entirely of products of my own raising. The tea comes from my own garden
in Hong Kong. The mandarin is decocted from the crop of oranges grown in
my Borneo orchard. The coffee comes from my Cuban plantation, as well as
the 'gizr' spirit, obtained from the coffee bean. The woodcock is from
my own park; and it is only the flour for the cakes that I have to buy,
for that comes from Hungary, and there I own nothing."

"How is that? If I remember rightly, you had a handsome property there."

"Have you not heard that it was sold to pay my debts?"

"And you consented to that?"

"Well, first hear my story. However, I have told you an untruth. I am
yet a landed proprietor at home; I own a cabbage-garden in the rear of
my former castle. That garden is the only bit of soil I kept, and in
this garden fine cabbages grow. Year after year the whole crop is sliced
up, put into great barrels, and converted into sauer-kraut. This they
send after me, wherever I happen to be--whether at New York, Rio de
Janeiro, Palermo, or Paris--and from this, after a sleepless night, my
wife prepares me a delicious 'Korhely-leves'" (a broth made from the
juice, and some slices of cabbage, with sour cream and fresh and smoked
ham, and sausages. This broth is in Hungary frequently served after a
night of dissipation; hence its name, "Korhely-leves," which means
"Scamp's-broth").