Memories

Last week, tall and distinguished behind his glittering eyeglasses, Marcel Bourguin, French Consul at Vera Cruz, went to the circus. In the animal tent his party stopped before a musky line of elephants.

"Mais ils sont fantastique!" cried Consul Bourguin and purchased a bunch of spotted yellow bananas. A bull elephant swayed forward automatically, shot out his crinkled trunk and delicately stuffed a handful of bananas into his little pink mouth. Suddenly two little red eyes focussed on Consul Bourguin, the elephant stopped chewing. Out shot the trunk again, like a fist this time, while the elephant trumpeted in rage. Consul Bourguin was knocked sprawling beneath the beast. Down stomped a colossal foot to break his leg and hip, then light as an armful of hay the angry elephant swung the French Consul overhead, hurled him high in the air across the tent.

In Vera Cruz hospital next day, reporters found bandaged M. Bourguin pale but cheerful.

"What bothers me, gentlemen," said he, "is whether or not I ever met and unwittingly insulted that elephant years ago. My memory, of course, cannot compare with his. No. I have never served in India, but I have served in Cairo. Was that elephant ever in Egypt? Or was it perhaps just a case of mistaken identity? To an elephant, you know, all Frenchmen must look alike."

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