Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

BORROWED PLUMES. George read this devastating cable. Sauer- braten discreetly retired to his fourth di- mensional refuge and was not to be found. The priceless arras which draped the walls shook to the thunder of George’s maledic- tions upon Sangrado, his master, and him- self. The Sévres vases upon the mantel shivered in all their porcelain arteries. When he had worn out the first trans- ports of his despair, his native American sense, what little he had, returned to him; and he rang for a servant, called for blanks, and sent to his father a return cable, charg- ing it to his hotel account: All mistake. Living perfectly quiet life. Please reconsider. Stranger to me, same name. Letter follows. GEORGE. But his nerves were far too shaken to at- tempt at this time a letter on any subject. He remembered Sangrado’s recommenda- tion of the 1897 Rheims, and rang for the sommelier to ice a quart and fetch it. Then, lighting one of the fat, oily cigars fancied by His Highness the Prince of Wales, he sat down, elevated his feet to the table top a la Americain, and gave himself up to mel-— ancholy forebodings. The following morn brought Sangrado, in a state of great agitation. Before George could train his loaded battery upon him, the secretary beat him to it. He thrust almost into his face a copy of La Vow Parisienne, the journal of society, and hissed: “ Monsieur, have you then by any chance read this? Sacré maudit! <A thou- sand thunders! You have at last ruined my noble master!” Mechanically, George accepted the jour- nal, and: beheld a heavily underscored para- graph in the column devoted to the deeds and misdeeds of notable visitors. The Comte de V——, who is housed at the Three Queens, was yesterday observed wheel- ing a perambulator in the company of a most charming young woman, on the Place des Vosges. It was a scene of almost rustic sim- plicity, eloquent of the democratic spirit of our amiable young visitor. A glad song rose in George’s heart, and was with difficulty restrained from bursting from his lips. At last he had begun to square matters with the man who was the cause of all his troubles! He managed to ~~... 667 keep his face straight as he turned to San- grado. “My dear fellow, bear to the count my profound regrets! These cursed journals! They spare no one. But in justice to my- self, let me tell you the facts.” Rapidly he outlined the blameless inci- dent. It was impossible to tell, from his hearer’s expression, whether he believed him or not. At the statement that the peram- bulator bore, not a baby, but a large bolo- gna sausage, Sangrado swallowed convul- sively, and plowed both hands wildly through his glossy locks, “In any case, monsieur,” he commented simply, “ the beans are overturned, as you say in your delightful idiom. Nothing more terrible could have been foreseen. A hun- dred parties, a liaison even, were less fatal! I greatly fear your unfortunate contretemps will force his highness to shorten his vaca- tion.” “I hope it does,’ George fervently breathed; but to Sangrado he merely said: ‘““T can only trust that my discreet manner of life during the past fortnight may in some measure atone for this stupidity.” | Soon after, Sangrado left, his pessimism unassuaged. “That spade-bearded bird must have been a reporter, if they have reporters over here,” mused George. “I seem to recall having noticed him once or twice before. Probably been detailed to follow me up. Well, he’s had a dull time of it, up to now! This paragraph will probably get him a raise in pay.” IV. THERE ensued two days of ominous calm; the sort that prevails before a ty- phoon, or a Kansas cyclone. Sangrado called as usual, but made no further refer- ences to the affair of the perambulator. Sauerbraten emerged from his fourth dimen- sion, aS impersonally assiduous as ever. George wrote his father a full account of his curious bargain, and its calamitous re- sults. He also wrote two letters to Mme. Volontiers, but tore them both up. He walked once as far as the Place des Vosges, then returned without going on to her lodg- ings. His shrinking funds did not permit Eomilcbooks. con