Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

672 auction, than to rent. There is a stock of wines and tobaccos there, too. Not to men- tion Ugichi, a Jap I hired, and who is paid a week ahead.” ‘‘ All these appurtenances belong rightly to M. Strong,” the countess briskly decided. “They are in his name, and are a slight recompense indeed for the odium you have brought upon him by newspaper notoriety. M. Sangrado, please call Sauerbraten in and command him to take M. Strong’s belong- ings to the studio, and to pack up and carry monsieur le comte’s to the Gare du Nord. That settles everything, I believe? Good. And, now, as to luncheon with us?” She turned with a charming smile to George. Having, as usual, carried every- thing before her in a single charge, she was now feeling quite amiable. Later on, in their private car, she would have much to say to Edouard; much, indeed. But for the nonce, she was the delightful hostess. ~ But George had no stomach for a family luncheon with the De Vaudreuils. He was very uncomfortable, and wanted to get away. He had not been consulted at all as to the disposition of his luggage, nor his willingness to go to live in the late quar- ters of his namesake; the countess had swept him along as easily as she had Edouard and his Machiavellian secretary. Besides, where on earth could he have his things sent, save there? Where else, save in the Bois, could he sleep? As in a dream, he beheld himself upon his feet and making his adieus. He shook hands with the countess, and noted how warm her palm was, how. friendly her clasp; and with the count, observing that his hand was cold and clammy. He bowed formally to Sangrado, and took from Sauerbraten his walking stick, gloves and hat, together with a card bearing his new address. A moment later he passed for the last time through the severely aristocratic portals of the Three Queens, and received, as a nobleman, the salaam of the portier. A few blocks down the Champs Elysées he paused uncertainly, and thrust an ex- ploratory hand into his trouser pockets. His total-funds consisted of a fifty centime piece; worth, once upon a time at normal exchange, ten cents, His allowance had ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, been cut off. He was leaseholder of a pre- sumably cozy studio apartment, whose wines and cigars had been selected by a connoisseur. He even had—for a week at least—the services of a Japanese house boy. But as for eating—well, fifty centimes will buy a bowl of nourishing broth, and two crackers, together with a large onion, if one is willing to patronize the brasseries! Already, though he had petulantly re- fused the omlette with goose livers and truffles suggested by Sauerbraten for break- fast, he was getting hungry. It was prob- ably psychological; induced by the reflec- tion that he couldn’t buy any more dinners. Dejectedly, he set his face toward the Place de la Concorde on his long walk to the Street of the Broken Jug. V. GrorcE loitered, in no hurry to get to his new domicile. Had he possessed even the slender means to put up at the meanest of pensions, he would have preferred it to the studio, whose ill repute was, though un- justly, connected with his own name, and where he doubted not he would be called upon to answer many awkward queries. He crossed by the Pont de la Concorde, turned down the Boulevard St. Germain, and so into the Rue Bonaparte, coming at length to the old Church of St. Sulpice, about which clusters a little nest of crooked — streets, one of the narrowest and most pic- turesque of which is that of the Broken. Jug. Many people were going and coming through the tunnels and courtyards and arched entrances; butcher boys whistling as they sauntered along, a joint or a basket of vegetables balanced on their heads, hands thrust into loose smocks; models, flitting across from one studio to another, with only a gaudy mantle draped about their slim figures, stockingless feet thrust into slippers, cigarettes between their lips; an old organ gtinder with a hungry looking monkey dis- consolately climbing a drain pipe to peer into the studios of impoverished futurist painters; students and sculptors in baggy corduroys and flopping hats, or no hats at all; pessimistic bill collectors; the usual citizenry of the Latin Quarter, ‘comicbooks=co