The Clarksburg telegram. [volume] (Clarksburg, W. Va.) 1874-1926, 1912-09-19
The Corrector Of Destinies
Being Tales of Randolph Mason as Related BY
His Private Secretary, Courtland Parks
MADAME VERSAY
BylNelpilIe DAVIDSON Posf
COPYRIGHT By Edward J. cl0de

Masons race showed annoyance.
Madame" he said, "a rubber Of whist
could not be safer"
Then, said the woman, ~ bid Won
good-mornIng."
A little snow was falling, and I ac-
companied Miss Caroline Pickney to
Bishop Simonton's carriage, tucked in
the skirts Of her great coat and closed
the door. think she must have tax.
en- me for sort of upper servant.
since she gave no evidence of my pres.
ence, except a stately nod at the car.
riage window.
Here was a fine bundle of mysteries.
coupled with the direction Of Mason
to go out and find Madame versay.
Find an unknown variety actress, only
the devils imps knew where. Such
birds had no marked tree to roost in:
/ besides, this person was probably Mad.
anne Gladys by now, or Estelle some
thing or other. l could not go back
to Mason for further light. He would
stare at me and walk away My di.
rections were accurate; find Madame
Versay first and then go to Richmond.
turned up the collar Of my great
coat, and went down for conferences
with the omniscent Scally. l found
him directing commerce with the Res.i
lures of Roman praetor. dartedl
past the row Of cabs to his island of
safety and seized his hand A mo-
ment later, when the tide had passed,
he took my bill from between the fin.
gers of his glove and held It under his,
broad thumb; then he smiled benignly.
"Misther Parks" he said, cts the
speed limit you are after wishin' to.
exceed?"
NO" said; 81 am the King of the
Golden Mountain on the quest Of a
fairy"
go along; you're foolin'," he said.
by no means" answered; Il want
to find Madame versay."
He whistled softly. Madame Yer.
say, is it! 'Tis only the devil that
knows where she is now, but where
she'll be at one tonight, It's Scally that
knows as well as the devil. In a dago.
cafe on the Bowery, which is next door
to Paddy Moran's dance hall, she will
be attn and drinkin' and carryin' on.
She's bad one, this Madame versay.
It's back to the tall weeds your friend
Scally would advise you to be goin'."
At half.past twelve that night,
found Madame Versay, and the cafe
called "dago" by my friend Scally. It
was fragment of Paris, transplanted
to the Bowery by Monsieur Popinot,
an oily, obsequious little creature from
the Montmartre. He came running out
to the curb to bow me in.-the com
ing of hanson was an event,
He enumerated his wares with true
Latin enthusiasm. His cayiare had
arrived that very day. 1t was mag
niique," and his wines! ah, monsieur,
he alone in all this raw land had
wines! His brother Anselem hunted
France, nosed it, fingered it, tasted 1t,
that he, Popinot, might have cham
payne, fragrant like those little mead
ows Nesting at the foothills Of the
Pyrenees. Burgundy, red like the pop
pies in the wheat fields of the Disc:
and absinthe-here language failed
him. He clasped his hands, "Ravis.
sante, monsieur!"
Madame Popinot, who presided over
the cash drawer by the door, beamed
upon me as l entered. She was a
daughter of the little shops along the
Seine, fat and vigilant, knowing in.
stantly If the newcomer had the price
Of glass of wine in his pocket. A
virtue of the highest order to her;
doubtless the only one remaining.
l selected little table by the wall,
and, not wishing to be poisoned, or
dred bottle of bass ale and and a
plate of dry biscuits, wiping out Pc
pinot's disgust with a generous tip.
The place was evidently Bohemian
rendezvous of low order. The at
mosphere was, stencil Of tobacco and
sour wine, the floor was freshly sprink-
led with new sawdust. The chairs
and tables were of metal Iron alone
could resist large primitive emotions
when they got in action. The crash
of an elbow, the heave of heavy boot
toe, did not wreck wire chair. 1t
could be Strengthened presently in the
crack of a door. The place was FILL
ing up with jetsam from the under
currents of New York. Gentlemen go
ing swiftly down to the sill of the
world, beasts coming up from it, get
somehow into evening clothes, sat well
together under Monsieur PopInot's
many.colored lights. 1t was the de-
pravity of Paris without a touch Of its
seductive esprit. The naive, mischiev-
Gus greeting of the Moulin Rouge and
the Folie Bergere, "Je vous Anne. dom
nez-moi cinq francs" was not here.
This place was an oak for crows.
wondered on what limb OF 1t perched
Madame yersay.
was about to summon the good
Popinot to my assistance, when a
young man, very drunk, came in, &C
companied by a woman in a superb
opera coat. They took the table OPP
posite to mine. Tho Young man wore