"It's really a kindness to the people at
home, for if they think it's true it makes them just as happy as if it
were true, and I think it's positively cruel to worry them
unnecessarily."
"To be sure," said Cleary. "And if it does get out, we'll throw all the
blame on the Secretary of War and his embalmed beef. They say he's
writing a book to show that a diet of mummies is the best for fighting
men--and so the quarrels go on. By the way, I just stopped a piece of
news that might have interested you. Do you know that you have
suppressed the Declaration of Independence?"
"Nonsense. I haven't seen a copy of it in two years."
"Well, here's a despatch that I got away from the cable-office just in
time. It would have gone in another ten minutes. Here it is."
Sam took the paper and read an account of the printing by a native
committee of fifty thousand copies of the Declaration in Castalian, and
its immediate suppression by Colonel Jinks, the censor.
"It's a downright lie," cried Sam. "I'll call my native secretary and
inquire into this," and he rang his bell.
"See here, what does this mean?" he asked the clerk who hurried in.
The man thought a minute.
"I do not know the Declaration of Independence," he said, "but perhaps
that paper I translated for you the other day had something to do with
it. I have not a copy here."
"Were they burned?"
"Not yet, sir.
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