Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 36: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

662 than a real nobleman. Nothing to indicate that Sauerbraten was serving with his tongue in his cheek, and a realization that it was all part of a game. He was always present when needed. If George so much as thought of a match, there was Sauerbraten at his elbow with a lighted vesta. If it suddenly occurred to him that a cooling drink wouldn’t be half bad, the valet was whispering: ‘“ A lemon squash, sir?” But when not needed, he seemed to vanish into thin air, as if he cus- tomarily dwelt in some sort of fourth di- mension, invisible but all seeing. Considering the notable entries on the hotel register, the addition of a mere count meant little to the management; yet George received a studied deference from everybody connected with the establishment that was curiously piquant to an American boy. Even the millionaires from Argentina who stopped here did not receive quite the same genuflections, the same reverently hushed inquiries as to their pleasure in the matter of lumps of sugar for their coffee. Sangrado, the secretary, dropped in every day. He took his master’s mail back with him to the apartment he was enjoying in the Latin Quarter. He, too, was in his man- ner everything that could be desired. He always inquired if everything possible were being done for George’s comfort. He sug- gested little excursions that might appeal to one visiting Paris for the first time. He - was helpful in many little, unobtrusive ways. And yet George had the feeling that he was under the closest espionage. It wasn’t easy to prove this, even to himself; but somehow he felt that Sangrado knew where he was, and with whom, most of the time. He did not think that he was being followed. Nothing so crude as that. But the valet, each evening, was solicitous as to his plans, that he might obtain tickets, - or instruct the driver of the taxi as to des- tination. And Sangrado was certain to in- quire as to whether he had passed an en- joyable evening. In truth, George had nothing to conceal. He was genuinely interested in the relics of old Paris, its museums and galleries, its palaces and show places. It delighted him to ride about its kaleidoscopic streets by ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. day, to attend the opera or one of the the- aters at night. It was a sensation when, on presenting the card of Count Vaudreuil, attendants at the Louvre or the Cluny, or the verger of some aged church would make haste to extend to him certain little privi- leges withheld from the public. Galleries not supposed to be open on the day he called; some moldering bone of a saint kept under lock and key from the profane gaze; these became visible upon the presentation of one of his magic cards. Not that Sauerbraten dealt these cards out to him with a prodigal hand. Instead, he would deferentially inquire as to the number, if any, he would be likely to need this afternoon or evening? It was evident that it was not intended that the visiting cards of Monsieur le comte de Vaudreuil should be broadcast about Paris, to fall into unworthy hands! There were occasions, when without Sau- erbraten George would have been at a loss. The first was when he received an invita- tion to dine with an ancient royalist family of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. He was panic stricken until his valet assured him that it was only necessary that he, Sauer- braten, bear the properly worded declina- tion, together with the prescribed number of pasteboards, to the house. There were left for him, three or four times, the cards of notable ones; but again the valet in- formed him that nothing more was required than a scrupulous return of the proper number of his own. And at the end of five days, George be- came bored. He had amused himself by ordering all sorts of rich and expensive dishes, trying to find those that were out of season. He had eaten peaches from Al- giers, worth almost their weight in silver; little white mushrooms under glass served with priceless old sherry; asparagus, each stalk as valuable as a stickpin; ducks, squeezed of their juices in a silver press; tripe cooked in a way that made it costlier than canvas backs. It had been fun to order huge tin boxes of cigarettes made in Cairo exclusively for the nobility, and thriftily resold by its scions. To smoke one of the big, fat cigars which the hotel kept especially for the Prince of Wales, COMNIECIOOLK<S. COM