They'd given new names to all
the months, and after such an outrageous silly piece o' business as
that, they wasn't likely to trouble 'emselves with my rights and
wrongs. They didn't. The barge was laid up below Notre Dame
church in charge of a caretaker, and he let me sleep aboard after I'd
run about all day from office to office, seeking justice and fair
dealing, and getting speeches concerning liberty. None heeded
me. Looking back on it I can't rightly blame 'em. I'd no money,
my clothes was filthy mucked; I hadn't changed my linen in
weeks, and I'd no proof of my claims except the ship's papers,
which, they said, I might have stolen. The thieves! The door-
keeper to the American Ambassador - for I never saw even the
Secretary - he swore I spoke French a sight too well for an
American citizen. Worse than that - I had spent my money, d'ye
see, and I - I took to fiddling in the streets for my keep; and - and,
a ship's captain with a fiddle under his arm - well, I don't blame
'em that they didn't believe me.
'I come back to the barge one day - late in this month Brumaire
it was - fair beazled out. Old Maingon, the caretaker, he'd lit a fire
in a bucket and was grilling a herring.
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