that needed to make a little money out iv th’ popylation, ye said, “Th’ honor iv th’ Fr-rinch people an’ th’ honor iv th’ Fr-rinch ar-rmy is on thrile”; an’ ye’ve put thim in th’ dock instead iv th’ Cap.  Th’ honor iv Fr-rance is all right, me boy, an’ will be so long as th’ Fr-rinch newspapers is not read out iv Paree,’ I says.  ‘An’, if th’ honor iv th’ Fr-rinch ar-rmy can stand thim pants that ye hew out iv red flannel f’r thim, a little threachery won’t injure it at all,’ I says.  ‘Yes,’ says I, ‘th’ honor iv Fr-rance an’ th’ honor iv th’ ar-rmy ‘ll come out all r-right,’ I says; ’but it wudden’t do anny harm f’r to sind th’ honor iv th’ Fr-rinch gin’rals to th’ laundhry,’ I says.  ‘I think ye’d have to sind Gin’ral Merceer’s to th’ dyer’s,’ I says.  ‘Ye niver can take out th’ spots, an’ it might as well all be th’ same color,’ I says.  ‘Mong colonel,’ I says imprissively, ’so long as ivry man looks out f’r his own honor, th’ honor iv th’ counthry ’ll look out f’r itsilf,’ I says.  ‘No wan iver heard iv a nation stealin’ a lead pipe or committin’ perjury,’ I says. ‘’Tis th’ men that makes up th’ nation that goes in f’r these diversions,’ I says.  ’I’d hate to insure again burglars th’ naytional honor that was guarded be that ol’ gazabo,’ says I, indicatin’ Merceer with th’ toe iv me boot.

“’That’s wan point.  They’s another, mong colonel.  Ye’re all afraid.  That’s th’ truth iv th’ matther.  Ye’re like a lot iv ol’ women that thinks ivry time th’ shutter creaks burglars is goin’ to break into th’ house.  Ye’re afraid iv Rothscheeld, an’ th’ Impror iv Germany, an’ th’ Dook d’Orleans, Vik Bonaparte, an’ Joe Chamberlain, an’ Bill McKinley.  Be hivins, I believe ye’re even afraid iv Gin’ral Otis!  Ye’re afraid iv th’ newspapers, ye’re afraid iv Jools Guerin, ye’re afraid iv a pote, even whin he is not ar-rmed with his pothry, an’ ye’re afraid iv each other.  Brace up! be men!  If I was a Fr-rinchman, I’d be afraid iv no man but th’ cab-dhrivers; an’ I wudden’t be afraid iv thim long, f’r I’d be a cab-dhriver mesilf.

“‘Wan thing more, an’ thin me tistimony’s over.  Ye want me advice.  Ye didn’t ask f’r it.  If I was prisident iv this coort-martial, I’d say to Cap Dhryfuss:  “Cap, get out.  Ye may not be a thraitor, but ye’re worse.  Ye’re become a bore.”  An’ I’d give him money enough to lave th’ counthry.  Thin I’d sind th’ gin’ral staff off to some quiet counthry village where they’d be free fr’m rumors iv war, an’ have nawthin’ else to do but set around in rockin’-chairs an’ play with th’ cat.  Thin I’d cut th’ cable to England; an’ thin I’d gather all the journalists iv Paris together, an’ I’d say, “Gintlemen,” I’d say, “th’ press is th’ palajeem iv our liberties,” I’d say; “but our liberties no longer requires a palajeem,” I’d say.  “This wan, whativer it means, is frayed at th’ risbands, an’ th’ buttonholes is broken, annyhow,” I’d say.  “I’ve bought all iv ye tickets to Johannisberg,” I’d say, “an’ ye’ll be shipped there tonight,”