"Yes," said the Baron. "I did. Once."

"Oh, you!" sneered Ptolemy. "You've had everything."

"Except the mumps," retorted Munchausen. "But, honestly, I did once have
as much canvas-back duck as I could eat."

"It must have cost you a million," said Bonaparte. "But even then they'd
be cheap, especially to a man like yourself who could perform miracles.
If I could have performed miracles with the ease which was so
characteristic of all your efforts, I'd never have died at St. Helena."

"What's the odds where you died?" said Doctor Johnson. "If it hadn't
been at St. Helena it would have been somewhere else, and you'd have
found death as stuffy in one place as in another."

"Don't let's talk of death," said Washington. "I am sure the Baron's
tale of how he came to have enough canvas-back is more diverting."

"I've no doubt it is more perverting," said Johnson.

"It happened this way," said Munchausen. "I was out for sport, and I got
it. I was alone, my servant having fallen ill, which was unfortunate,
since I had always left the filling of my cartridge-box to him, and
underestimated its capacity. I started at six in the morning, and, not
having hunted for several months, was not in very good form, so, no game
appearing for a time, I took a few practice shots, trying to snip off the
slender tops of the pine-trees that I encountered with my bullets,
succeeding tolerably well for one who was a little rusty, bringing down