questioned a clerk:

"Where do they give out the numbers?

"There are no numbers."

"What will happen tomorrow then, when we make our deliveries?"

"How do I know?"

The next day when the delivery men began their rounds, a policeman
accosted them:

"Have you your numbers?"

"No, sir; they are not ready yet."

"Well, come with me then, to the police station."

And that was the last of our bread.

The Caid of Mechuar in Morocco favoured his subjects in some such
fashion several years since, but the Moors, being men of spirit, fell on
him one day, and left him at death's door on a dung heap. Meanwhile,
Sanchez de Toca continues to talk nonsense in these parts, and is
considered by some to be one of the bulwarks of the country.

I could spin many a tale of tyranny in high places, and almost as many,
no doubt, of the pettinesses of workingmen. But what is the good? Why
stir up my bile? In progressive incarnations, I have now passed through