Affair in Araby | Page 8

into the
itching palm, and waited till the messenger went out. Then he looked at
the address on the envelope. It was:
_Proprietor Grand Hôtel Royal, Weet-sur-Mer._
"Well," he said, "it's mine--I guess there's no question of that--I'm the
proprietor--pro tem," and he tore the envelope open. A low whistle
escaped him as he read the message. Then he slapped his leg and
laughed. "It's a freak of the market," he cried. "A freak of the market!
And it's just my luck to be in on the ground floor!"

He folded the telegram and placed it carefully in his pocket. Then he
fell again into a meditation punctuated by frequent chuckles. But at the
end of a very few minutes, Monsieur Pelletan was back again, with a
thin little notary in tow, and the necessary papers were soon drawn up.
"You have only to sign, monsieur," said the notary, after he had
finished reading them aloud, and he handed his formidable pen to
Rushford.
Monsieur Pelletan rubbed his hands together nervously as the
American hesitated and looked at him.
"It's not too late to draw out," remarked Rushford. "If you're not
satisfied--"
"I haf no tesire to traw out, monsieur," protested Pelletan, quickly. "I
am entirely satisfied!"
"I have one other condition to make," added the American.
"What iss eet, monsieur?" questioned Pelletan, looking at him
apprehensively.
"You understand I'm to be a silent partner in this thing."
"A--?"
"A silent partner--in other words, nobody's to know I'm backing you
unless I choose to tell them--absolutely no one. Do you agree?"
"Oh, gladly, monsieur!" cried Pelletan, with a deep breath of relief.
After all, is not glory the next best thing to riches?
"And your friend?"
The notary nodded a solemn promise of secrecy.
"All right," and Rushford signed. Pelletan hastily affixed his signature,
and the thing was done. "Now, my friend," continued the American,

"which is the swellest suite of rooms you've got in the house?"
"De luxe A," responded Pelletan. "Monsieur wishes--"
"I wish you to get it ready at once--"
"Monsieur will occupy it himself, no toubt?"
"No, I won't; I'll stay right where I am. But between seven and eight
o'clock to-morrow morning, there will arrive an English ship of war--"
"A sheep-of-t'e-war!" echoed Pelletan, growing pale.
"Certainly, a ship of war, and from it there will disembark a man
named Vernon and his suite of four or five people. You will give him
apartment A."
Pelletan caught his breath.
"Monsieur Vernon iss, I suppose, a friend?" he stammered.
"No," said Rushford, "I've never seen him. But we'll have to treat him
well. He's the head of the British foreign office, Pelletan; and one of the
high nobility. Beside him, Zeit-Zeit will look like thirty cents!"

CHAPTER III
Distinguished arrivals at Weet-sur-Mer
Even at this unaccustomed hour of the morning, the beach was black
with people. It was not to bathe that they had come, for a chill north
wind was blowing; nor was it to promenade, for they were not
promenading; indeed, it was the fashionable hour for neither of these
things, and no one ever dreamed of doing them at any hour other than
the fashionable one. It was rather the fashionable hour to turn painfully
over in one's bed, and ring the bell, and signify that coffee and rolls
would be acceptable.

This morning there had been scant time for such refreshment, or for
that preliminary stretching which is so grateful to bodies wearied by
late hours and too-rapid living. Instead, nearly all the sojourners at
Weet-sur-Mer had arisen aching from their beds, had hurried forth to
the beach, and stood there now, facing unanimously seawards, staring
toward the dim horizon, only moving convulsively from time to time in
the effort to keep warm. Those who had glasses used them; those who
had none, strained nature's binoculars to the limit of vision. From all of
which it will be seen that the notary had done his work well, and that
neither had Monsieur Pelletan been backward in spreading the great
news of the unparalleled occurrence which was about to happen.
"He iss to arrive between t'e hours of seven unt eight," he had
announced. "Hiss Highness, pe it understood, Lord Vernon, t'e great
Englishman. He comes in a special vessel--a sheep-of-t'e-war," he
added with a triumphant flourish. "He could pring mit' him t'e whole
nafy of England, if he wish'!" Ah, what an honour for Weet-sur-Mer!
And what a blow for the Grand Hôtel Splendide across the way!
Yet Monsieur Pelletan did not in the least understand how it had come
to pass; he suspected his partner of some sort of clairvoyance, of some
supernatural power of compelling events, and his admiration for him
had deepened to awe. But into this question he did not