Asked me to hold his horse, and gave me this." He held out with distaste a piece of folded paper, addressed: "To the Secretary of the Central Anarchist Council." The Secretary, raging, rent it open, and found written inside it:-- "When the herring runs a mile, Let the Secretary smile; When the herring tries to fly, Let the Secretary die.
Rustic Proverb." "Why the eternal crikey," began the Secretary, "did you let the man in?
Do people commonly come to your Exhibition riding on mad elephants?
Do--" "Look!" shouted Syme suddenly.

"Look over there!" "Look at what ?" asked the Secretary savagely.
"Look at the captive balloon!" said Syme, and pointed in a frenzy.
"Why the blazes should I look at a captive balloon ?" demanded the Secretary.

"What is there queer about a captive balloon ?" "Nothing," said Syme, "except that it isn't captive!" They all turned their eyes to where the balloon swung and swelled above the Exhibition on a string, like a child's balloon.

A second afterwards the string came in two just under the car, and the balloon, broken loose, floated away with the freedom of a soap bubble.
"Ten thousand devils!" shrieked the Secretary.

"He's got into it!" and he shook his fists at the sky.
The balloon, borne by some chance wind, came right above them, and they could see the great white head of the President peering over the side and looking benevolently down on them.
"God bless my soul!" said the Professor with the elderly manner that he could never disconnect from his bleached beard and parchment face.