him.  As he went down something stuck in my throat, and, extricating it, what should it prove to be but a pearl of surpassing beauty.  My first thought was to be content with my day’s find.  A pearl worth thousands surely was enough to satisfy the most ardent lover of sport; but on looking up I saw those ducks still paddling contentedly about, and I could not bring myself to give them up.  Suddenly the idea came, the pearl is as large as a bullet, and fully as round.  Why not use it?  Then, as thoughts come to me in shoals, I next reflected, ’Ah—­but this is only one bullet as against sixty-eight birds:’  immediately a third thought came, ’why not shoot them all with a single bullet?  It is possible, though not probable.’  I snatched out a pad of paper and a pencil, made a rapid calculation based on the doctrine of chances, and proved to my own satisfaction that at some time or another within the following two weeks those birds would doubtless be sitting in a straight line and paddling about, Indian file, for an instant.  I resolved to await that instant.  I loaded my gun with the pearl and a sufficient quantity of powder to send the charge through every one of the ducks if, perchance, the first duck were properly hit.  To pass over wearisome details, let me say that it happened just as I expected.  I had one week and six days to wait, but finally the critical moment came.  It was at midnight, but fortunately the moon was at the full, and I could see as plainly as though it had been day.  The moment the ducks were in line I aimed and fired.  They every one squawked, turned over, and died.  My pearl had pierced the whole sixty-eight.”

Boswell blushed.

“Ahem!” said Doctor Johnson.  “It was a pity to lose the pearl.”

“That,” said Munchausen, “was the most interesting part of the story.  I had made a second calculation in order to save the pearl.  I deduced the amount of powder necessary to send the gem through sixty-seven and a half birds, and my deduction was strictly accurate.  It fulfilled its mission of death on sixty-seven and was found buried in the heart of the sixty-eighth, a trifle discolored, but still a pearl, and worth a king’s ransom.”

Napoleon gave a derisive laugh, and the other guests sat with incredulity depicted upon every line of their faces.

“Do you believe that story yourself, Baron?” asked Confucius.

“Why not?” asked the Baron.  “Is there anything improbable in it?  Why should you disbelieve it?  Look at our friend Washington here.  Is there any one here who knows more about truth than he does?  He doesn’t disbelieve it.  He’s the only man at this table who treats me like a man of honor.”

“He’s host and has to,” said Johnson, shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, Washington, let me put the direct question to you,” said the Baron.  “Say you aren’t host and are under no obligation to be courteous.  Do you believe I haven’t been telling the truth?”