The Emmett index. [volume] (Emmett, Idaho) 1893-1925, 1908-03-26
CHAPTER Continued. }
A u 8 t y n

i, one who was almost a son to her. b
sides, | thought you said you coudn
'e find Madame La Seur"
2 II had some difficulty at first; but
'e have had one Of my men on the track fc
u the past two days. lie now reports he
as residing in Belleyille. | shall NOV
up into that neighborhood to night, an
commence my investigations. In tn
meantime | want you TO continue {
> watch Monsieur Chabot and report wba
steps our deluded friend the project 0
police is taking
80 they parted, Cassagne to his lodg
ings to assume such dress as woul'
: harmonic with The humble quarters o
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 b,
would presently repair to the drawing
rooms Of the Ylcomte and vicomtesse dc
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 a
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 friendly way
with the peddler, however, his gaze in
reality fixed upon scene before him
unique even among the curious phases of
life TO be encountered In the Rue Ban
quiere.
In shop which in point of size was
double at least that of either of its ad
joining neighbors, crowd of the very
poorest of Belleyille 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
ide on the pavement.
Over this shop swung a slgn-board, on
both sides of which was painted the figure
of 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, II carve for the peo-
ole"
Inside the shop gentleman similarly |
habited, but trihe less corpulent and
digniied 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.
stout woman Of about fifty-fve years of
age would seize it. wrap it up In piece
IF newspaper, and hand it to someone in
he crowd, not letting go of the appetite
ing morsel, however, until she had re-
,eiyed in exchange therefor two coins in
copper. great heap of which lay in a
irawer beside her.
The workman at the huckster's barrow
inished his apple and bought another.
The intent gaze which he kept fixed upon
he cook shop at length attracted the at
ention of the vender
You seem to be amused" he said.
Have you never seen pudding cut be-
oreT
Not such pudding as that" replied
he man with the bag. ITS quite a sight,
int it, Why, there's another"
That's nothing. They'll keep that |
hing up for an hour yet. Old Mother
ferchant's buildings have a reputation. a
tell you, In the Rue Banquiere." b
The shop, then, belongs to Madame l.
Ierchant, who, suppose, is that old n
dy?" e
Eyes, and not only the shop, but the d
ouse as well. She has not been cutting
lddings all these years for nothing. D
he's pretty good hearted woman, I
ough, and nobody begrudges her her n
oney. In the winter time she lets me 81
II hot pies right In front Of her shop
re, though It's against her own trade"
The glare of the petroleum lamps flick
ed up less brightly. The night crept on u
ace The fierce glare of the street u
anged to a dingy twilight. 1t was as &c
the footlights had been turned halfway NJ
wn In some realistic melodrama The III
ovid melted away at last.
Only the stub end of one of the pud- Oh
ngs remained on the greasy counter
10 drawer was piled full of coins. A Sc
etched woman, gaunt with famine, was ~
Q only customer left. She was bargain pe
Z for a bone with which to make soup. !"
sr two starving children, clingng to nc
r tattered gown, eyed with wistful looks ~
> remnant of the pudding; but it was .e
luxury beyond their mothers means. uo
The workman took up his bag, and al
dding goodnight to the huckster. cross
over into the shop. The man In the up
. and apron was resting from his la NC
rs. The workman called to him and he III
ne up to the counter. an
"A slice of pudding" said the work
n.
The man In the cap and apron cut it rio
There's no more paper" he said. a.
ou'll have TO take it in your hands. ~,
] nearly cold now, anyway. Why didn't Oh,
] come in when 1t was hot? 1t was Ior
md then, / tell you"
The stretched mites clincino 70 tbo 70. -.