Chapter 12: How Rob Saved a Republic

While following the shifting scenes of the fascinating Record Rob noted an occurrence that caused him to give a low whistle of astonishment and devote several moments to serious thought.

“I believe it’s about time I interfered with the politics of this Republic,” he said, at last, as he closed the lid of the metal box and restored it to his pocket. “If I don’t take a hand there probably won’t be a Republic of France very long and, as a good American, I prefer a republic to a monarchy.”

Then he walked down-stairs and found his English-speaking waiter.

“Where’s President Loubet?” he asked.

“Ze President! Ah, he is wiz his mansion. To be at his residence, M’sieur.”

“Where is his residence?”

The waiter began a series of voluble and explicit directions which so confused the boy that he exclaimed:

“Oh, much obliged!” and walked away in disgust.

Gaining the street he approached a gendarme and repeated his question, with no better result than before, for the fellow waved his arms wildly in all directions and roared a volley of incomprehensible French phrases that conveyed no meaning whatever.

“If ever I travel in foreign countries again,” said Rob, “I’ll learn their lingo in advance. Why doesn’t the Demon get up a conversation machine that will speak all languages?”

By dint of much inquiry, however, and after walking several miles following ambiguous directions, he managed to reach the residence of President Loubet. But there he was politely informed that the President was busily engaged in his garden, and would see no one.

“That’s all right,” said the boy, calmly. “If he’s in the garden I’ll have no trouble finding him.”

Then, to the amazement of the Frenchmen, Rob shot into the air fifty feet or so, from which elevation he overlooked a pretty garden in the rear of the President’s mansion. The place was protected from ordinary intrusion by high walls, but Rob descended within the enclosure and walked up to a man who was writing at a small table placed under the spreading branches of a large tree.

“Is this President Loubet?” he inquired, with a bow.

The gentleman looked up.

“My servants were instructed to allow no one to disturb me,” he said, speaking in excellent English.

“It isn’t their fault; I flew over the wall,” returned Rob. “The fact is,” he added, hastily, as he noted the President’s frown, “I have come to save the Republic; and I haven’t much time to waste over a bundle of Frenchmen, either.”

The President seemed surprised.

“Your name!” he demanded, sharply.

“Robert Billings Joslyn, United States of America!”

“Your business, Monsieur Joslyn!”

Rob drew the Record from his pocket and placed it upon the table.

“This, sir,” said he, “is an electrical device that records all important events. I wish to call your attention to a scene enacted in Paris last evening which may have an effect upon the future history of your country.”

He opened the lid, placed the Record so that the President could see clearly, and then watched the changing expressions upon the great man’s face; first indifference, then interest, the next moment eagerness and amazement.

“Mon Dieu!” he gasped; “the Orleanists!”

Rob nodded.

“Yes; they’ve worked up a rather pretty plot, haven’t they?”

The President did not reply. He was anxiously watching the Record and scribbling notes on a paper beside him. His face was pale and his lips tightly compressed.

Finally he leaned back in his chair and asked:

“Can you reproduce this scene again?”

“Certainly, sir,” answered the boy; “as often as you like.”

“Will you remain here while I send for my minister of police? It will require but a short time.”

“Call him up, then. I’m in something of a hurry myself, but now I’ve mixed up with this thing I’ll see it through.”

[Illustration: Rob watched the changing expressions upon the great man’s face]

The President touched a bell and gave an order to his servant. Then he turned to Rob and said, wonderingly: