| 15 
14 NORTH SHORE BREEZE NORTH SHORE BREEZE. 
THE GUEST 
OF QUESNAY 
By Booth Tarkington 
Copyright, 1908, by the McClure Company 
Copyright, 1907, 1908, by the Ridgway Company 
[CONTINUED.] 
CHAPTER IV. 
O doubt the most absurd thing 
1 could have done after the 
departure of Professor Kere- 
dec and his singular friend 
would have been to settle myself be- 
fore my canvas again with the inten- 
tion of painting, and that is what lL 
did. At least, 1 resumed my camp 
Stool and went through some of the 
motions habitually connected with the 
act of painting. 
In fine, 1 sat there brush paddling 
my failure like an automaton and say- 
ing over and over aloud: “What is 
wrong with him? What is wrong with 
him?” 
I came out of my varicolored study 
with a start, caused by the discovery 
that I had absentmindedly squeezed 
upon my palette the entire contents of 
an expensive tube of covalt violet. 
The turpentine rag at least proved 
effective. 1 scoured away the last 
tokens of my failure with it, wishing 
that life were like the canvas and that 
men had Knowledge of the right ce 
lestial turpentine. After that I clean- 
ed my brushes, packed and shouldered 
my kit and, with a final imprecation 
upon all sausage sandwiches, took up 
my way once more to Les Trois Pi- 
geons. 
Striding along at a good gait and 
chanting sonorously, “On Linden when 
the sup was low,” 1 left the rougher 
boscages of the forest behind me and 
emerged just at sunset upon an or- 
derly fringe of woodland where the 
ground was neat and unincumbered 
and the trimmed trees stood at polite 
distances, bowing slightly to one an- 
other with small, well bred rustlings. 
1 stood upon Quesnay ground. 
Before me stretched a short, broad 
avenue of turf, leading to the chateau 
gates. A slope was terraced with 
strips of flower gardens and intervals 
of sward, and against the green of a 
rising lawn | marked the figure of a 
woman pausing to bend over some 
fiowering bush. ‘Tbe lady upon the 
slope was Mme. d’Armand, the inspira- 
tion of Amedee’s “Monsier has mucb 
to live for!” 
Once more this day I indorsed that 
worthy man’s opinion, for, though I 
was too far distant to see clearly, I 
knew that roses trimmed Mme. d’Ar- 
mand’s white hat and that she had 
passed me no long time since in the 
rorest. 
I had come far out of my way, so ! 
retraced my steps to the intersection 
of the paths and thence made for the 
inn by my accustomed route. Not far 
along the road from where | came into 
it stood an old, brown, deep thatched 
cottage, a branch of brusbwood over 
the door prettily beckoning travelers 
to the knowledge that cider was here 
for the thirsty, and as | drew near 1 
perceived that one availed bimself of 
the invitation. A group stood about 
the open door, the lamplight from 
within disclosing the head of the bouse 
filling a cup for the wayfarer. 
The latter was a most mundane and 
elaborate wayfarer indeed—a_ small 
young man very lightly made, like a 
jockey and point device in khaki, put- 
tees, pongee cap, white and green 
stock, a Knapsack on his back and a 
bamboo stick under hisarm. He spoke, 
though with a detestable accent, in a 
rough and ready, picked up dialect of 
Parisian slang, while Pere Baudry 
contributed his share of the conversa- 
tion in a slow patois. As both men 
spoke at the same time and neither 
understood two consecutive words the 
other said, it struck me that the dia- 
logue might prove unproductive of any 
highly important results this side of 
Michaelmas. ‘Therefore, discovering 
that the very pedestrian gentleman 
was making some sort of inquiry con- 
cerning Les Trois Pigeons, 1 came to 
a halt and proffered aid. 
“Are you looking for Mme. Bros- 
sard’s?” | asked in English. 
The traveler uttered an exclamation 
and faced about with a jump, bird- 
like for quickness, 
“Say,” be responded in a voice of 
unpleasant nasality, finally deciding 
upon speech, “you’re "Nummeric’n, ain't 
you?” 
“Yes,” I returned. “I thought I 
heard you inquiring for’— 
“Well, m’ friend, you can sting me,” 
he interrupted, with condescending 
jocularity. “My style French does fr 
them camels up in Paris all night. 
But down here | don’t seem to be gud 
enough f’r these sheep dogs. Any- 
way, they bark different. I’m lukkin’ 
fer a hotel called Les Trois Pigeons.” 
1 pointed to the lights of the inn 
flickering across the fields. “Yonder 
—beyond the second turn of the road.” 
“Oh, I ain’t goin’ there t’night! It’s 
too dark t’ see anything now,’ he re- 
marked. “Dives and the choo-choo 
back t’ little ole Trouville f’r mine! 
I on’y wanted to take a Juk at this 
pigeon house joint.” 
“Do you mind my inquiring,” I said, 
“what you expected to see at Les 
Trois Pigeons?’ 
“Why,” he exclaimed as if astonish- 
ed at the question, “I’m a tourist, 
makin’ a pedestrum trip t’ all the reg’- 
ler sights,” and, inspired to eloquence, 
he added as an afterthought, “as it 
were.” . 
“But if you will pardon me,” | said, 
“where did you get the notion that 
Les Trois Pigeons is one of the regu- 
lar sights?” 
“‘Ain’t it in all the history books?’ 
“No; 1 don’t think that it is men- 
tioned in any of the histories or even 
the guidebooks.” 
“Look a-here,” be said, taking a step 
nearer me, “in oinest, now, on your 
woid, didn’ more’n half them Jeanne 
d’Are tamales and William the Conker 
live at that hotel wunst?” 
NO.” 
“Stung again!’ He broke into a 
sudden loud cackle of laughter. “Why, 
a feller at Trouville tole me ‘at this 
Pigeon place was all three rings when 
it come t’ history. Yessir!” ; 
I tarried no longer, but, bidding this 
good youth and the generations ot 
Baudry good night, hastened on to my 
belated dinner. 
“Amedee,” I said when my cigar was 
lighted and the usual hour of consulta- 
tion had arrived, “isn’t that old lock 
on the chest where Mme. Brossard 
keeps her silver getting rather rusty?’ 
“Monsieur, we have no thieves here. 
We are out of the world.” 
“Yes, but Trouville is not so far 
away, and strange people go to Trou- 
ville—grand dukes, opera singers, jock- 
eys, gamblers, tourists"— 
“Truly,” assented Amedee, 
“It follows,” 1 continued, “that many 
strange-people may come from ‘Lrou- 
ville. In their excursions to the sur- 
rounding points of interest”’— 
“Eh, monsieur, but that is true,” he 
interrupted. “There was a strange 
monsieur from ‘Trouville here this 
very day.” 
* * * * * * 
I had sprained my ankle in a poppy 
field and must spend little less than a 
week of idleness within the confines 
of Les Trois~ Pigeons, and, reclining 
among cushions in a wicker long chair 
looking out from my pavilion upon the 
drowsy garden on a hot noontide, 1 
did not much eare. 
A heavy step crunched the gravel, 
and I heard my name pronounced in a 
deep inquiring rumble, the voice of 
Professor Keredec, no less. Nor was | 
greatly surprised, since our meeting in 
the forest had led me to expect some 
advances on his part toward friendli- 
hess or at least in the direction of a 
better acquaintance. 
“Here I am,” I called, “in the pa- 
Vilion, if you wish to see me.” 
“Aha, I bear you become an inralid, 
my dear sir!” Witb that the profess- 
or’s great bulk loomed in the doorway 
against the glare outside. “I have 
come to condole with you, if you allow 
ate 
“To smoke with me, too, I hope,’ I 
said, not a little pleased. 
“That 1 will do,” he returned and 
came in slowly, walking with percepti- 
ble lameness. “The sympathy! offer 
is genuine. It is not ouly from the 
heart; it is from the latissimus dorsi,’”’ 
he continued, seating himseli. “1 bave 
choosed this fine weather for rheuma- 
tism of the back.” 
fle took from his pocket a worn 
leather case, which he opened, dis- 
closing a small. browned clay bowl of 
the kind workmen use, and, fitting it 
with a red stem. he filled it with a 
dark and 
pouch. “Ajy, 
said and app 
smoke as oy 
smoke of ¢, 
It is wickeg 
good for the, 
am a Chimp 
repose. 1] sn 
count of ty 
perate nov," 
“He has rp 
friend?” | ay 
itor rather cy 
“Mr. Sa ffrey 
or Keredec pa 
2 
“It is wicked | 
goo 
Spectacles and| 
with serene tt 
good conditiol 
children, aud §| 
he chokes and! 
though he do 
how | take a‘ 
for study, but! 
out of the frill 
book—yes, vel! 
ing of that cb 
days ago.” 
“You say sul 
is Satfren?’ 
“Oliver Sualftf 
gaze continued! 
Shadow like @ 
the Homeric ! 
abruptly, “It ® 
tome to talk 
“T shall be ‘él 
“Ha, my dei! 
are a man of I 
you have recel" 
tleman's excu# 
which makes!" 
on sucb a sul) 
not bave you 
me two veld | 
who bide bere! 
“No. no!” |? 
Ct ec per ee 
jpbaling the 
nie the light 
it is good! 
ies, put it is 
jam alone | 
pepdomadary 
It is on ac- 
qd] am tem- 
your young 
eat my vis- 
ar. 
bs.” Profess- 
diver rimmed 
des, but it is 
ul.” 
Hem) upon me 
“He is in 
fe, like little 
Ke near him 
rit the eves, 
Mplain, Just 
It is his hour 
le looks more 
VY than at his 
ice the pass- 
aus lady some 
Trieud’s name 
€ benevolent 
POL Ine, but a 
Hety darkened 
Pally he said 
Nthat | have 
ied, “but you 
Was the way 
or young geu- 
= Was so rude 
talk With you 
Why 1 would 
* Sattren and 
individuals 
d CMininaig!? 
aStily, “yne 
pame or Professor Keredec’”— 
“The name ot no mau,” be thunder- 
ed, interrupting, “can protect bis rep- 
utation when he is caught peeping 
from a curtain! Ha, my dear sir, | 
know what you think! You think: 
‘He is a uice, fine man, that old pro- 
fessor—oh, very nice, ouly he hides 
behind the curtains sometimes. Very 
fine man—ob, yes, only be ts a spy! 
Eb? Ha, ba!” 
“Not at all,” I laughed. “I thought 
you might fear that | was a spy.” 
“Bh?” He became serious. 
“I supposed you might be writing a 
book which you wished to Keep from 
the public for a time and that possibly 
you might imagine that 1 was a re- 
porter.”’ 
“So! And that is all,” he returned, 
with evident relief. ‘No, my dear sir, 
Il was the spy; it is the truth. 1 con- 
fess my shame. 1 wish very much to 
know what kind of a man you are. 
And so | have watched you.” 
“Why? I asked. 
“The explanation is so simple; it was 
necessary.” : 
“Because of—of Mr. Saffren?”’ I said 
slowly and with some trepidation. 
“Precisely.” ‘Che professor exhaled 
a cloud of smoke. “Because 1 am 
sensitive for him and | am his guard- 
ian, but 1 am not his guardian by the 
law.” 
“TI had not supposed that you were,” 
I said, “because, though I do not un- 
derstand his—his case, so to speak, L 
have not for a moment thought him in- 
sane.” 
“Ha, my dear sir, you are right!” ex- 
claimed Keredec. ‘He is as sane as 
anybody in the whole world! Ha, he 
is now much more sane, for his mind is 
not yet confused and becobwebbed 
with the useless things you and I put 
into ours. A few months more—ha, at 
the greatest a year from now—and he 
will not be different any longer. He 
will be like the rest of us, only’—the 
professor leaned forward, and his big 
fist came down on the arm of his 
chair—“he shall be better than the rest 
of us! But if strange people were to 
see him vow,” he continued, “it would 
not do. ‘here are so many who judge 
quickly. If they should see him now 
they might think be is not just right 
in his brain, and then, as it could bhap- 
pen so easily, those same people might 
meet him again after awhile. ‘Ha,’ 
they would say, ‘there was a time 
when that young man was insane. 1 
knew him! And so he might go 
through his life with those clouds over 
him. 
“Ha! I wish you to know my young 
man,” Keredeec went on. “You will 
like bim—no man of feeling could keep 
himself from liking himi—and he is 
your fellow countryman. I hope you 
will be his friend. He should make 
friends, for he needs them. You will 
dine with us tonight?’ he suggested. 
Acquiescing cheerfully, I added, 
“You will join me at the table on my 
veranda, won't you?” 
Before answering he cast a sidelong 
glance at the arrangement of things 
“stranger should remain.” 
outside the door. ‘Ime screen oT nouey- 
suckle ran partly across the front of 
the little porch, about half of which it 
concealed from the garden and conse- 
quently from the road beyond the arch- 
way. I saw that he took pote of this 
before he pointed to that corner of the 
veranda most closely screened by the 
vines and said: 
“May the table be placed yonder 
“Certainly.” 
“Fa, that is good:” he exclaimed. 
Suddenly we heard the rapid boof 
beats of a mettled horse. He crossed 
our vision and the open archway—a 
high stepping hackney going well, 
driven by a lady in a light trap which 
was half full of wild flowers. I had 
not the least difficulty in recognizing 
her. At the same instant the startled 
pigeons fluttered up from the garden 
path, betaking themselves to flight, and 
“that other monsieur’ came leaping 
across the courtyard and into the road. 
“Look quickly!” he called. “Who is 
that lady?” 
Amadee awoke with a frantic start 
and launched himself at the archway. 
“That lady, monsieur?”’ he gasped, 
gazing after the trap. “That is Mme. 
@’ Armand.” 
“Mme. @’Armand.” Saffren repeated 
the name slowly. “Her name is Mme., 
@’Armand?” 
“Yes, monsieur,’ said Amadee com- 
placently. “It is an American lady 
who has married a French nobleman.” 
[To BE CONTINUED.] 
A Garrick Incident. 
The picture of Garrick in the wit- 
ness box, tongue tied and smothered 
hid 
_ with confusion, is an amazing one, for 
Garrick where speaking was concern- 
ed was the pride of London. Members 
of parliament envied bim his powers. 
Burke envied him. There is that in- 
stance in parliament when during a 
heated debate a member moved that 
the gallery be cleared. This was or- 
dered to be done, and the strangers 
withdrew, all save Garrick. Still the 
member objected. ‘Then up spake 
Burke. Would it be fair to exclude 
from their debate the master of elo- 
quence, the genius who taught them 
the art of speaking? he demauded. For 
himself he was proud to acknowledge 
his indebtedness to Garrick. Kox fol- 
lowed in the same strain. And ‘Town- 
shend. The house then voted that the 
And Gar- 
rick did not budge!—St. James’ Ga- 
zette. 
Henry’s Followers. 
“Give me liberty or give me death!’ 
“Patrick Henry was a great man. 
He has followers by the thousands,” 
“Indeed! Among the orators, states- 
men and patriots, I suppose?” 
“Well, more frequently among the 
great mass of mismated.’—Boston Her- 
ald. 
The Game of Golf. 
Farmer Barnes — There's one good 
thing about golf anyhow. Farmer Eal- 
lows (skeptically,—What’s that? Farm- 
er Barnes—Why, ye don’t have to play 
It if ye don’t want to.—London Scraps. 
Mexican Tidbits. 
Water bugs and worms are among 
the tidbits in which the Mexican peon 
delights. He catches his bugs as they 
skim along the top of fresh water 
ponds, drying them and then eating 
them with as much zest as an Amertri- 
can boy eats peanuts. As near as the 
peon can explain it, their flavor 1s 
something on the order of the chest- 
nut, but as no white man has ever 
tried eating water bugs or, if he has, 
doesn’t dare confess it, the exact taste 
of these Mexican morsels can’t be de- 
scribed very accurately, The peons 
dote, too, on the nice fat pulque worm. 
This insect is about two inches long 
and half an inch thick. They fry the 
dainty in grease and pack it in brown 
paper packages of a dozen worms, 
which bring 2 cents a paper. An in- 
dustrious pulque worm collector makes 
a good living.—New York World. 
An Early Invention. 
There is no modern joy ride 
Like those we used to take 
When snow was on the meadow, 
The river and the lake 
With school day Sweetheart Sally 
Tucked up to bar the cold 
All in a homemade cutter 
That only two would hold. 
Style wasn't on the program, 
There was no fancy speed, 
But just a pleasant jogging, 
With Dobbin for a steed, 
Yet those who by the wayside 
Observed the passing pair 
Had envy in their glances 
And wished that they were there. 
The tinkle of the sleighbell 
Made music sharp and sweet 
And brightened up the village, 
Gave life to all the street, 
And as into the country 
It softly died away 
Left memories with the hearers 
Of days when they were gay. 
Those sleighing days delightful 
Of life and strength and hope 
Before youth went in earnest 
Out with the world to cope— 
There is no turning backward 
To that alluring track. 
We've lost the combination 
And couldn’t get it back, 
Truly Wonderful. 
“T have a wonderful memory.” 
“You have?” 
“Yes, indeed.” 
“How many quarts in a bushel?” 
“You see that’s what's so wonderful 
about it. It absolutely insists on 
throwing out all extraneous and im- 
material matter.” 
Where It Would Help. 
“The czar never goes anywhere un- 
less he has a bodyguard of soldiers 
and detectives all around him about 
four deep.” 
“It must be very annoying to live 
that way.” 
“Yes, unless one wanted to go to a 
church fair.” 
The Reason. 
“She is very popular.” 
“She seems very unattractive. I 
wonder what the secret is.” 
“She is tond of children.” 
“Well.” 
“And bakes such good cookies.” 
