The last
shreds of his will were leaving him when he gained the door. He turned
the key and shot back one bolt. He fumbled for the second bolt, but
failed. Then he leaned his weight against the door and slid down gently
to the floor.
[Illustration:]
A NOSE FOR THE KING
In the morning calm of Korea, when its peace and tranquility truly
merited its ancient name, "Cho-sen," there lived a politician by name Yi
Chin Ho. He was a man of parts, and--who shall say?--perhaps in no wise
worse than politicians the world over. But, unlike his brethren in other
lands, Yi Chin Ho was in jail. Not that he had inadvertently diverted to
himself public moneys, but that he had inadvertently diverted too much.
Excess is to be deplored in all things, even in grafting, and Yi Chin
Ho's excess had brought him to most deplorable straits.
Ten thousand strings of cash he owed the government, and he lay in
prison under sentence of death. There was one advantage to the
situation--he had plenty of time in which to think. And he thought well.
Then called he the jailer to him.
"Most worthy man, you see before you one most wretched," he began. "Yet
all will be well with me if you will but let me go free for one short
hour this night.
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