“They’re great, aren’t they?” whispered Bonaparte to Munchausen.

“Well, rather,” returned the Baron.  “I don’t see why the mortals don’t erect a statue to the canvas-back.”

“Did anybody at this board ever have as much canvas-back duck as he could eat?” asked Doctor Johnson.

“Yes,” said the Baron.  “I did.  Once.”

“Oh, you!” sneered Ptolemy.  “You’ve had everything.”

“Except the mumps,” retorted Munchausen.  “But, honestly, I did once have as much canvas-back duck as I could eat.”

“It must have cost you a million,” said Bonaparte.  “But even then they’d be cheap, especially to a man like yourself who could perform miracles.  If I could have performed miracles with the ease which was so characteristic of all your efforts, I’d never have died at St. Helena.”

“What’s the odds where you died?” said Doctor Johnson.  “If it hadn’t been at St. Helena it would have been somewhere else, and you’d have found death as stuffy in one place as in another.”

“Don’t let’s talk of death,” said Washington.  “I am sure the Baron’s tale of how he came to have enough canvas-back is more diverting.”

“I’ve no doubt it is more perverting,” said Johnson.

“It happened this way,” said Munchausen.  “I was out for sport, and I got it.  I was alone, my servant having fallen ill, which was unfortunate, since I had always left the filling of my cartridge-box to him, and underestimated its capacity.  I started at six in the morning, and, not having hunted for several months, was not in very good form, so, no game appearing for a time, I took a few practice shots, trying to snip off the slender tops of the pine-trees that I encountered with my bullets, succeeding tolerably well for one who was a little rusty, bringing down ninety-nine out of the first one hundred and one, and missing the remaining two by such a close margin that they swayed to and fro as though fanned by a slight breeze.  As I fired my one hundred and first shot what should I see before me but a flock of these delicate birds floating upon the placid waters of the bay!”

“Was this the Bay of Biscay, Baron?” queried Columbus, with a covert smile at Ptolemy.

“I counted them,” said the Baron, ignoring the question, “and there were just sixty-eight.  ‘Here’s a chance for the record, Baron,’ said I to myself, and then I made ready to shoot them.  Imagine my dismay, gentlemen, when I discovered that while I had plenty of powder left I had used up all my bullets.  Now, as you may imagine, to a man with no bullets at hand, the sight of sixty-eight fat canvas-backs is hardly encouraging, but I was resolved to have every one of those birds; the question was, how shall I do it?  I never can think on water, so I paddled quietly ashore and began to reflect.  As I lay there deep in thought, I saw lying upon the beach before me a superb oyster, and as reflection makes me hungry I seized upon the bivalve and swallowed