The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1910-01-24
By Earl Derr Biggers

hangs the apron of the master each evening to dry, when she has washed from it the stains of the days work There last night she placed it. Again. she come for it. Morbleu! It is gone! The apron of Bertrand de Bouillon, without which, Monsieur Casserole stood up and groped blind1y for his clothes.
 "The Cote dor must go on without it." he said firmly though his lip twitched
 Nom dun nom, howl" shrieked Adolphe. Without it! Tonnerre de Brest! AS well might the world go on without the sun; The apron of the master the inspiration for my bouillabaisse, my omelets, my flets Without it! Of all ideas the most impossble!"
 "The Cote dor goes on without it," repeated Monsieur Casserole, with added irmness.
 And it did, but, oh, how doefully! When the first regular patron tasted his flet that night, he looked up quickly as though some one had dealt him a blow Hurredly he summoned Monsieur Casserole who came, hollow checked, wild eyed. sick of fever.
 What is this?" cried the patron though he believed himself the victim of bad dream "Soggy with grease! Cold! Tough as the dish for bod "Ah, Monsieur, spare meW cried Casserole "Our chef, he is ill., So most poorly does he cook to- day Monsieur is at liberty to dine elsewhere un- til the chef recovers.
 "Never!" cried the diner. It has been tioned that the Cote dor was with some a reli- zion Never! The wine is still the pest in tn the recovery of the poor chef"
 So spoke the other regular patrons, among them the five who alone knew of the apron of inspira- An, it noble martyrdom, was that of the Cote dOr's faithful!
 But not as martyrs did all who had been accus- toned to seek this lost Paris shine. There many who there only to eat-not to dream themselves back the in the gay city, not arab1y with the hour of dining. These when the blow fell, but sighed and went away. They went away, and mon Dieu! did not Monsieur Casserole. standing sadly in the front of his once crowded but now nearly emptied cafe, see whither they went? The doors of the Cafe Glacial swung often and merrily, the place buzzed with trade, the walters uni liberal hurried about among the crowded tables. Monsieur Lefourbe, glancing out occasionally toward the now cheerless Cafe Cote dor, shrugged his shoul- ders and smiled.
 Three weeks of sorrow and pathetic martyrdom dragged slowly by One night the fve-Dupree and the Gates girl, Masters the medical and liar grave the hack, and Betty Martn-gathered at the Cote dor in solemn concave and discussed the marvellous apron of Bertrand de Bouilon, and its mysterious disappearance.
 "Ah, if only Adolphe had never found it in his head-this idea foolish of the apron! Me. cannot understand
 Masters the medical smiled.
 "The artistic temperament he said, and glanced 'It is not for you and me to try to understand that, Monsieur. Now, medically could very cas- fly explain this freak of Adolphe's It is very the scientific for 1t. It is known as"
 "Not much,Y broke in Hargrave. You don't throw anything like that at man who is down. at least not while am around. By the way, Casse- role, have been wondering-is there nowhere we could obtain an apron like this Bertrand de Boul-
  influence, you know-but not so minus that Adolphe would get wise.'
 "Ah! to fool Adolphe on this apron-surely you propose it jokingly," sighed Monsieur Casserole. "The apron of his master-by mere touch, by the way his heart made music or was sad when he put it on, he would know. Besides he added more practically, mot outside of Paris ten years ago could apron made this, with such buckles, be obtained. have-I have tried Non, the Cote dor is thing of the past.''
 Dupree suddenly got up from his chair and sent waiter for cab. The others looked after him wonderingly.
 Back in a mnute,' he cried from the door; Gas you iovesme, wait for me-" And he rushed out.
 Still wondering, they waited almost in silence, slipping the wine that the remaining badge of the cafes erstwhile glory In twenty minutes Dupree was back carrying bundle. He opened it, and lo-
 ."The apron of Bertrand de Bouillon," Monsieur Casserole fairly screamed.
 '.Not exactly,' said Dupree. "No only the apron of poor art student in the days when he dined at the cafe where Bertrand ruled supreme. Ten years ago. at little shop in the Quarter, bought this apron to protect my only suit of clothes from the flying paint-and now bless the poverty that made it necessary. For behold, have ushered in Madame Casserole that long absent smile. If any gentleman will kindly pass me two eggs and a rabbit I will endeavor-"
 Mon, non,'' broke in Casserole Cit is wild. It is impossible" But his eyes shone with light deceive Ado1phe-ah, that is too much! We can-
 "Pish, tush!" said Masters. "Adolphe is only
 
 this is the apron of the mighty Bertie Bouillon, and his omeets will again taste like advance agents of heaven. But how shall slip this long-lost piece of dry goods back to him?"
 Dupree's plan prevailed. small boy was brought in from the street. taught his story, and with the bogus aP.on pushed out into the mar vicious kitchen where Adolphe, forlorn, dreary, struggled with the dishes it had been the joy of his life to prepare. One look he got at the apron, and he bounced upon it in a frenzy of de- light. He hugged it to his bosom; he smoothed out tenderly the rump1ed fo1ds he wept in the ecstasy ot his happiness. Then he shouted for Monsieur Casserole, waiting tremblingly within call.
 .It is back' he cried '.mon cher tablier, it is back. So long, long without it, and ah the dreary omelets have prepared alone! As the painter the sculptor"
 "Ou. Yes, verily, it is the apron' said Mon seur Casserole. "Ah, Adolphe, did ex- pect to live for this happiness Put on, Adolphe. Put 1t on.'
 "Oui Oui. Never again is it to leave me- Adolphe struggled wildly with the buckles. Never! With it sleep. Oui it is The orders! Now let me hear the orders"
 They came. Escargots Ia Casserole Sasifs. Omelet sonffle And the hand of the master was , again! dishes