Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1908-06-26
CEIApTER yIy-1Continued !,

SUES lnoughI you SAID you couldn
find Madame La Seur."
Il 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. / shall move
up into that neighborhood 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 M.
Jules Chabot, and in whose company he
would presently repair to the drawing
rooms of the Vicomte and Vicomtesse 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 a
red pocket handkerchief. A bag contain
ing few tools was slung over his shoul-
der.
Presently be stopped, ostensibly to pur-
chase some fruit, which hawker in one
Of Che 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 a scene before him
unique even among the curious phases of
life to be encountered iu the Rue Ban
quiere.
In a shop which in point OF size was
double at least that of either of its adj
joining neighbors, crowd Of the very
poorest of Belleville 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 sign-board, on
both sides of which was painted the figure
Of hancock, ina 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-
pie"
Inside the shop a gentleman similarly
habited, but a triae less corpulent and
dignifed 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 d ships
cable. As the cook cut of a slice, a
stout woman Of about ffty-fve years of
age would seize it, wrap 1t up in piece
OF newspaper, and hand it to someone in
the crowd, not letting go of the appetite
ing morsel however, until she had re-
ceiyed in exchange therefor two coins in
copper, 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?"
mot such a pudding as that" replied
the man with the bag. ITS quite sight,
amt it'll Why, there's another"
That's nothing. They'll keep that
fn,. Old NfOkhnr
Merchants buildings have a reputation,
l tell you, in the Rue Banquiere."
"The shop, then, belongs to Madame
Merchant, who, 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 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
if the footlights had been turned halfway
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 bone with which to make soup.
Her two starving children, clinging to
her tattered gown, eyed with wistful looks
the remnant of the pudding but it was
luxury beyond their mothers means.
The workman took up his bag, and
nodding goodnight to the huekster, cross
ed over into the shop. The man in the
cap and apron was resting from his la
Dors. The workman called to him and he
came up to the counter.
A slice Of pudding" said the work
nan.
The man in the cap and apron cut it
neres no more paper" he said.
aoun have to take it in your hands.
It's nearly cold now, anyway. Why didn't
you come in when it was hot? 1t was
grand then, l tell you"
Inc wretched mites clinging to the tat
tered skirts of their mother, moved re-
iuetantly toward the door. The woman
had secured her bone. Soup in the imme-
alate future was Of course excellent. hut
mere was meat pudding being eaten under
thelr very eyes. They would have liked
70 stay while. Perhaps the workman
would have dropped some.
gu are right" said the man with
the bag. These buildings are better bot
petite" vs. NY ap-
Give It to me" cried the gaunt wom-
an. 4 viii divide it fairly
No. let the children have that" re-
piled the man with the bag @CS,+ an.
other slice for madame"