"
"Porkhound," yelled the stranger, "do you defy me? me, Count Achtung
von Eisenbahn? Give me the babe. I must have him. I will have him. He
is ours--our Prince Fritz, the last of the Hohenzollerns."
The great moment had come. Jones's face lit up. Death--a hero's
death--might claim him, but he would make democracy safe for the
world.
"Last of the Hohenzollerns!" he shouted; "then, by Jove, this is going
to be the last of _him_." And with a yell of triumph he hurled the
infant out into the night.
From the child in its trajectory came a long ear-splitting shriek,
followed by a gentle wailing.
Mr. Jones sat up and blinked his eyes. The professorial gentleman was
still in the far corner; the lady was still opposite him; the child
was wailing softly.
The lady smiled. "I'm afraid baby has broken your nap. A passing
express frightened him."
"Not at all," murmured Mr. Jones incoherently, searching for his
novel, the one solace left amid the ruin of his dreams.
"Pardon me," said the lady, "but if you are looking for your book you
threw it out of the window just before you woke up.
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