"
The General said never a word. He did not stop to argue the matter.
He had run up against a sentinel, and when stopped went the other
way. That was all. The man had a right to be there; he had none.
I was never so much an admirer of Grant as since that day. It was
true greatness. A smaller man would have made a row, stood upon
his dignity and demanded the punishment of the policeman. As for
him, there was probably never so badly frightened a policeman when
I told him whom he had clubbed. I will warrant he did not sleep for
a week, fearing all kinds of things. No need of it. Grant probably
never gave him a thought.
It was in pursuit of the story of a Breton nobleman of hoped-for
ancient lineage that I met with the most disheartening set-back of
my experience. The setting of the case was most alluring. The old
baron--for he was nothing less, though in Minetta Lane he passed
for a cat's-meat man who peddled his odd ware from door to door--had
been found by the police sick and starving in his wretched cellar,
and had been taken to Bellevue Hospital.
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