Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

BORROWED PLUMES. who had once stopped at the Three Queens, and had asked for this brand. But on the fifth day of his borrowed plumage, George awoke with a homesick desire for ham and eggs and a stack of wheats, and an unrea- sonable hatred for Sauerbraten because he knew that he would be lurking about with the bath at just the right temperature, and the cravat he expected George to wear ly- ing starkly upon the fresh shirt. From pure contrariness, he refused to bathe until he had had his coffee and crois- sant. He knew this would pain Sauerbra- ten. And, untidily lounging in his bath- robe, he glanced over the morning journals. He read French easily, and spoke it pas- sably. But he merely skimmed through the papers, because they contained no news that especially interested him, and were full of gossip concerning folk that he did not know nor want to know. It was, there- fore, with intense surprise and something of a shock that he came across his own name in the Petit Parisien. To be sure, it was tucked away rather inconspicuously on an inside sheet; but its contents were sufficiently startling. With Gallic wit, and more innuendo than detail, there was described a jazzy sort of party given by “ Georges Strong, the latest of the tribe of engaging young American millionaires who flatter our city by their preference.” ‘The party took place in the young man’s studio on the Street of the Broken Jug. There were many ladies pres- ent, young and lovely. They wore charm- ing smiles, all of them. A few had more elaborate toilettes. Several notable char- acters of the rive gauche graced the occa- sion, and the entertainment comprised in- novations which were startling even to the blasé Quarter. A queer feeling attacked George’s stom- ach. It was weird enough to be reading of a wild party given by himself, yet at which he was not present. But it was the possibilities of this newspaper story that roused his deeper emotions. It was true that he was unknown in Paris; but as he planned to stay here for some time to come, this story would do him little good as a fu- ture citizen. If nothing worse it would give him a reputation as a prodigal spend- 663 er, which was an awkward asset for a man obliged to exist on a pittance of fifty dol- lars a month! And even his existence as Count Vaudreuil, with every item charged on his hotel bill, was proving a strain on his slender pocket funds, for as a nobleman he was expected to bestow tips in excess of the commoner, and while he was deferring his hotel fees in the expectation that the real count would assume them on the termi- nation of their little arrangement, the at- tendants at galleries where he presented his card for special privileges, largesses to program distributors at theaters, flower girls, trifles of charity wheedled from him by the army of expert panhandlers and beggars, all were slowly devouring his precious dollars. And the first of the month, bringing a new fifty to him at the express office on the Rue Scribe to which his mail came, was still afar off. J For the first time he was irritable with Sauerbraten, an attitude which that astute servitor made note of without appearing to do so. It portended something that it was his duty to analyze. With the arrival of the debonair San- grado, the storm broke. “See here,” George brusquely began, causing the suave secretary to raise expres- sive eyebrows. “Look at this damned story in the Petit Paristenf What the devil does the count mean by dragging my name into notoriety this way! Can’t he have a good time without making so damned much noise about it that it gets into the news- papers? I haven’t so much as chucked a. pretty chambermaid under the chin; but he seems to have pried the lid off that joint of his in the artist colony!” Sangrado waved deprecatory, lavender- gloved hands. “But, monsieur! Of a surety, you in your country know to what unreasonable lengths the press can go at times! And of how small a molehill they can construct the huge mountain—/ein? I, Sangrado, assure you that the party was quite con= ventional. As harmless as an afternoon tea in a convent.” George snorted. “Rot! Reads like it, don’t it? Girls wearing pleasant smiles, and stunts pulled Gomichooks.co