Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current, 1908-06-20
CHAPTER XIx.-(Continued.)
A II s t y n

but IL is quite likely that she would
give us any clew to the whereabouts of
one who was almost son to her. Be
sides, l thought you said you couldn't
find Madame La Sour"
II had some difficulty at first but !
have had one of my men on the track for
the past two days. He now reports her
as residing In Belleville. l shall move
up into that neghborhood tonight, and
commence my investigations In the
meantime | want you to continue to
watch Monsieur Chabot and report what
steps our deluded friend the project of
police is taking"
So they parted, Cassagne to his lodg-
ings to assume such a dress as would
harmonic with the humble quarters of
the town where he proposed to pursue
his investigations, D'Auburon to his club,
where he had an appointment with Nj.
Jules Chabot, and In whose company he
would presently repair to the drawing
rooms Of the Vicomte and yicomtesse de
Valair.
At about half past eight the next even
Ing, anyone who had taken the trouble
to look might have seen enter the Rue
Banquiere by its western end, a man
dressed in rough garments, who looked
like well-to-do workman, with his heavy
shoes and lime-bespattered corduroys. He
wore no collar on his check cotton shirt,
but around his throat was loosely tied
red pocket handkerchief. A bag contain
Ing few tools was slung over his Shout
der.
Presently he stopped, ostensibly to pur-
chase some fruit, which a hawker in one
of the barrows in the middle Of the street
was vociferously offering for sale. As
he stood there chatting in a friendly way
with the peddler, however, his gaze in
reality fixed upon a scene before him
unique even among the curious phases of
life to be encountered in the Rue Ban
quiere.
In a shop which in point of size was
double at least that of either of its adj
joining neighbors, a crowd of the very
poorest of Belleylle had gathered. There
must have been thirty or forty men, wom-
en- and children inside the doors, at the
very least, and as many more waiting out
side on the pavement.
Over this shop swung a sign-board, on
both sides of which was painted the figure
of a hancock, in white cap and apron,
industriously carving an unnaturally red
round beef; and underneath, apparently
unframed by the steam and the gravy,
for 1t was plainly to be read, was the
democratic legend, Il carve for the peo-
pie"
Inside the shop a gentleman similarly
habited, but a trife less corpulent and
digni6ed than his counterfeit presentment
on the sign, was at that moment actually
engaged in the very occupation which the
legend advertised. He was engaged in
carving for the people.
In place, however, of operating upon
a round of beef, he was engaged in slic-
ing, with great rapidity, a meat pudding.
This pudding itself, apart from the hun
cry crowd waiting to devour it, was an
object worth looking at. 1t was at least
five feet long and as thick as a ships
cable. AS the cook cut Off a slice, a
stout woman of about fifty-fve years of
age would seize 1t, wrap it up In a piece
of newspaper, and hand it to someone in
the crowd, not letting go of the appetite
ing morsel, however, until she had re-
ceived in exchange therefor two coins in
copper, a great heap of which lay in a
drawer beside her.
The workman at the huckster's barrow
finished his apple and bought another.
The intent gaze which he kept fixed upon
the cook shop at length attracted the at
tention of the vender
You seem to be amused" he said.
"Have you never seen a pudding cut be-
fore?"
Not such a pudding as that" replied
the man with the bag. Its quite a sight,
amt it? Why, there's another"
That's nothing. They'll keep that
thing up for an hour yet. Old Mother
Merchants buildings have a reputation,
tell you, in the Rue Banquiere."
THE shop, then, belongs to Madame
Merchant, who, l suppose, is that old
lady?"
Yes, and not only the shop, but the
house as well. She has not been cutting
buildings all these years for nothing.
She's a pretty good-hearted woman,
though, and nobody begrudges her her
money. In the winter time she lets me
sell hot pies right in front of her shop
here, though it's against her own trade"
The glare of the petroleum lamps flick
cred up less brightly. The night crept on
apace. The fierce glare of the street
changed to a dingy twilight. 1t was as
down in some realistic melodrama The
crowd melted away at last.
Only the stub end of one of the pud-
dings remained on the greasy counter.
The drawer was piled full of coins A
wretched woman, gaunt with famine, was
the only customer left. She was bargain
Ing for a bone with which to make soup.
Eer two starving children, clinging to
her tattered gown, eyed with wistful looks
the remnant Of the pudding; but 1t was
a luxury beyond their mothers means.
The workman took up his bag, and
nodding goodnight to the huckster, cross
ed over into the shop. The man In the
cap and apron was resting from his la
bors. The workman called to him and he
came up to the counter.
"A slice of pudding" said the work
qan.
The man in the cap and apron cut II.