'Fish,'" he read, "th' flea is no more fish than I
am--" He turned the pages, and continued down through that wonderful
list that embraces everything known to man. The three Frenchmen sat on
the edges of their chairs, watching him eagerly.
"Ho, ho!" Flannery sang out at length. "Here it is! 'Insects, not
crude, one quarter cent per pound and tin per cint. ad valorum.' What is
ad valorum, I dunno, but 't is a wonderful thing th' tariff is. Who
would be thinkin' tin years ago that Professor Jocolino would be comin'
t' Ameriky with one hundred fleas, not crude, in his dress-suit
portmanteau? But th' Congress was th' boy t' think of everything. 'No
free fleas!' says they. 'Look at th' poor American flea, crude an'
uneducated, an' see th' struggle it has, competin' with th' flea of
Europe, Asia, an' Africa. Down with th' furrin flea,' says Congress,
'protect th' poor American insect. One quarter cent per pound an' tin
per cint. ad valorum for th' flea of Europe!"
Mike Flannery brought his hand down on the book he held, and the three
men, who had been watching him with a fascinated stare, jumped
nervously.
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