Argosy, Vol. 122, No. 1 — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

THE BANK OF LOVE. there, and give you another for it. As for the rent, a day or two will not matter.” Astonishment was written over the faces of Charlot and his friend. What had hap- pened to soften the hard heart of the old skinflint? Charlot was the first to recover his senses. He gave Caparolle a nudge and the etcher, still bewildered, exchanged his clean note for one which had seen more service. Toquet carefully placed it in his pocket- book, and stood with his head cocked to one side, like a dissolute parrot. ‘From a plate like that,” he asked with an air of geniality, ‘you can make a num- ber of copies, eh?”’ “Yes,” replied Caparolle, scratching away at his work. “ Yes, indeed. Why?” “A matter of curiosity. Aw revoir, my young friends.” M. Toquet hurried away. “There is mischief in the wind,” said Charlot, shaking his head. “The day when geniality and Toquet enter our door in company is one of evil for me and, I fear, for you, too, my dear fellow.” “ The old boy wanted a clean note. That was all.” “But for a present. That fishy story smells suspicious to me. He is not the sert of old miser to be making presents to any one. And why this sudden interest in your work?” ‘‘ Because his rent depends on my work and your verses, old man,”’ Caparolle added hastily, seeing the poet’s face fall. Charlot sighed, and going to the window looked down into the street. All at once he started. M. Toquet was spending money. There he was seated at the café opposite behind a glass of beer—he drew out his pecketbook, selected a bank-note from it and laid it on the marble-topped table carelessly. The waiter picked it up and went inside. What excited Charlot’s curiosity, however, was the nervousness which suddenly seémed to 4fflict his land- lord. He was turning his head and peer- ing into the interior of the bar where the patron was making change. His hands were trembling, and he wagged his old head to and fro’as he squinted apprehensively up and down the narrow street. 27, When the waiter returned with the change, his evident relief was ludicrous. He stuffed the money into his pocketbook, drained his glass of beer, and shuffled quickly across the way. A sudden light illumined the dark: re- cesses of the poet’s brain. So that was it. For a present, eh? “IT have it,” he cried, turning to Capa- rolle. ‘Old Toquet has just given the patron of the Café des Fleurs your precious hundred-franc note.” “Well, what about it?” Caparolle snapped impatiently. “Qh, thrice blind!” continued Charlot. “Don’t you see? He wanted to make sure if the note was all right—if the patron would accept it.” ‘What are you raving about?” asked Caparolle, sitting upright. ““ Why shouldn’t the patron take it? It was a perfectly good note.” “You made it to-day, so you should know,” said Charlot, rolling on the floor in a fit of uncontrollable mirth. Dieu! The old scoundrel thought you made it—with your own hands—here—from that fool plate of yours—he is blind as a bat—he - Jumped at the idea that you had counter- feited it.” ‘* Impossible! ” ‘Not a bit. Heaven! Why did we not see what he was hinting at? Here we have the explanation.” “The devil!” groaned Caparolle, over- come. ‘‘ What is to prevent his running - te the police station with his cock-and-bull story? We shall be in a fine mess if we are hauled off to interview the commissary. And here I have to get this plate done. He may be on his way there now.” “No!” Charlot reassured him. “I saw him come back to the house.” ‘‘He has some scheme up his sleeve. Why did he sing so softly about our rent? It is very mysterieus.” Caparolle was agitated. ‘“T distrust the spider and his webs.” “It is something to make us shudder,” Charlot agreed. ‘Oh, we shall sweat blood for this, that I am positive of. Let me think, now. Sapristi, Marcelle! He has cast an unholy eye on Marcelle.” - “ Or Suzanne,” suggested the etcher jeal- cComiclbooks.com