Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1913-09-18


~ ROCK was breakfasting out of
doors in the cheerful little gar
den Of the Hotel Chatham. The
sun streamed warmly upon the
concrete floor Of the court just beyond
the row of palms and oleanders that
fringed the rail against which his Her
aid rested, that he might read as he
ran. so to speak. He was the only per-
son having dejeuner on the terrace"
as he named it to the obsequious wait
er who always attended him. Charles
was the magnet that drew Brock to
the Chatham, that excellent French no
tel with the excellent English name.
Charles was standing, alert but pen
sive, quite near at hand, ready to re-
plenish the bowl with honey. Brock
was especially fond Of it. Brock
had gone to the Chatham for years just
because Charles was a fixture there.
Charles spoke the most execrably pic
turesque English, served with a puncti-
1iOusness that savored almost of the
Qyerbearing. and boosted that he had
acquired the art Of making American
cocktails during a five weeks residence
in the United States.
It was Il lazy morning. Brock was
happy. He was even interested when
a porter came forth and unraveled a
{ long roll Of garden hose. with which
he abruptly began to splash water
upon the concrete surface Of the court
without regard for distance or direc-
ton. Moreover. he proceeded to water
the palms. operating from a spot no
less than twenty feet away, until the
faithful Charles restored him to earth
Dy means Of certain subdued injunc-
tions and less moderate gesticulations.
from which it could be readily gather
cd that ''m'sieur was eating. not bath
ing" Whereupon the utterly uncrush-
ed porter splashed water at right an
giles. to Brooks relief. "M'sieur will
pardon the boy" a%pologized Charles in
deepest humility, taking much for
granted. "'It will be very warm today.
Your serviette, m'sieur-it is damp.
Pardon!' He flew away and back with
another napkin. "Of course. m'sieur,
the Chatham is not the Waldorf" he
announced deprecatingly. 'Parbleu,"
beating himself on the forehead. IT
forgot! M'sieur does not like the Wal
dorf. Eth. bien. Paris is not New York,
no." Having sufficiently humbled
| ground. rubbing his hands as if he
were cleansing them Of something I'M
slightly. Brock spread one Of the but
tered biscuits with honey and inwardly
admitted that Paris was not New York.
He was a good looking chap of thir-
ty or therea bouts, an American to the
GORE, bright eyed. keen witted, smooth
faced. virile. From boyhood's earliest
days he had spent a portion of his
summers in Europe. Two or three
years of his life had been employed in
the beaux arts. fruitful years. for
Brock had not wasted his opportuni-
ties. He had gone in for architecture
and building. Today be stood high
among the younger men in New York.
prosperous. successful and a menace to
the old cry that a son of the rich can
not thrive in his fathers domain.
Nowadays he came to the old world
for his breathing spells. He was able
to combine dawdling and development
without sacrificing one for the other.
wherein lies the proof that his vaca-
lions were not akin to those taken by
= most Of us.
J The fortnight In Paris was to be
followed by a week in st. Petersburg
and u brief tour OF Sweden and Nor
way His stay In the gay city was