ican Americans, anti-American Mexicans, and myself.
"No. It is not shocking, as you say in the United States," he added with a smile. The guests smiled politely, too, so as not to discourage him. "Satan," he continued, "ordered his servants to dust and clean all the corners and rooms of his palace, which stood at the entrance to his estate." He spoke slowly, so as not to make a mistake in his youthful English.
"It was evening when Satan made his inspection. He saw that everything was perfectly clean inside; and then he looked at the"—he paused for the word—"exterior. Above the gate Satan read the old worn inscription: 'All hope abandon, ye who enter here.' And Satan said: 'I must have a new sign. That one is not modern. It is not up to date'—as you say in New York.
"Satan thought a while." The secretary paused and puffed his cigar. "He consulted some of his chief advisers."
"You mean his Cabinet," suggested an American.
"Ah, yes," replied the secretary; "Satan consulted his Cabinet. And the next day the new inscription above the gate read: Made in Germany!"
Though the secretary told this story with as much enthusiasm as if he had been the author of it, I imagine it was one he had heard in the States. It served the purpose at this gathering, however,
