"Pardon me, Mr. Secretary," I interposed, with all the courtesy of
manner I could muster, "but I think you mistake the motive of Mr.
PUNCHINELLO in applying that description to a person so august."

"Fire and fiddlesticks, sir! do you take me for a fool?"

I pressed my hand in the vicinity of the fifth rib on my left side, and
solemnly asseverated that I did not.

"It makes no difference," added the great man, in an excited tone. "I
can entertain no application coming from such a quarter."

"But will you permit me to explain what Mr. PUNCHINELLO intended by the
epithet 'scaly'? It was only his peculiar way of saying that an officer
appointed to administer the responsible duties of your august office
could not impartially do so without the 'Scales'--of Justice."

"Nonsense!" shouted the petulant old mackerel; and now I began to feel
"sassy."

"But you must admit, Mr. Secretary, that there is a great deal of sense
in Mr. PUNCHINELLO'S nonsense. He shoots folly as it flies, and yet it's
a great pity that he can't shoot all the fools."

"I am impressed with the truth of that remark, from the fact of his
sending you here," was the reply, delivered with an air and tone
intended to be witheringly sarcastic. That was enough for me, so I
dropped my gloves (metaphorically speaking) and went for him.