Evening star., 1922-07-23


Mortes, the little fortified. derelict
city in the salt marshes OF Provence
Although they regarded him WITH tho
Same unimaginative wonder as q pair
of alligators might regard an Argus
butterfly, their undoubted but freak
fish progeny. and although Aristide
SCARED high above their heads In all
phases of thought and emotion. the
mutual ties remained strong and per-
durable. Scarcely a year passed with
out Aristide struggling somehow
south to visit ses vieux, as he affec-
tionately called them, and whenever
Fortune shed few smiles on him,
one or two at least were sure to hnd
their way to Aigues-Mortes In the
shape of, say. a silver-mounted UNI
brella for his father or a deuce of
Paris hat for the old lady's Sunday
wear.
NJ. and Nine. Pujol had a sacred
museum OF these unused objects-the
pride Of their lives. Aristide was en-
tirely incomprehensible. but he was
good son. A bad son IN France Is rare.
once AriStide nearly killed his ola
~ people outright. An envelope
from him contained two large ca
ressive slips OF blush paper. which
when scrutinized with starting eyes
turned out to be two 1.00o-franc
notes Mon Dieu! What had hap
penned. Had Arstide been robbing
the Bank of France? They stood
paralyzed and only recovered motive
force when neibhbor suggested
their reading the accompanying let
ter. 1t did not explain things very
clearly. He was in Aix-les-Bains,
place which they had never heard OF.
making his fortune. He was staying
at tho Hotel de rEurope where
Queen Victoria (they had heard OF
Queen Victoria) had been contented
to reside; he was a glittering figure
in a splendid beau-monde. and II ses
vieux would buy a few cakes and
bottle of win chete with the inclosed
trifie, to celebrate his prosperity, he
would deem 1t the privilege of de-
voted son. But Pujol, sr., though
wondering where the devil he had
fshed all that money from. did not
waste it in pro1igate -revelry. He
took the eighty pounds to the bank
and exchanged the perishable paper
for solid 100 golden louis, which he car
ried home in a bag curiously bulging
beneath his wooden jersey. and Sc
creted it with the savings of his
long life in the mattress of the con-
jugal bed.
IF only he hasn't stolen It," sighed
the mother. -.r.
What does it matter. since it is
sewn up there all secure?" said the
old man. mo one can find it"
The Provencal peasant is as hard
headed and practical as a Scottish
miner. and IL left alone by the fairies
would produce no imaginative effect
whatever upon his generation; but in
his progeniture he is more preposter-
ously afflicted with changelings than
any Of his fellows the world over.
which, though ethnologically an entirely
new proposition. accounts for singular
number OF things and inter ALA for my
dragon-fiy friend. Aristide Potol.
Now, Aristide. be it said at the out
set, had not stolen the money. 1t
(and a vast amount more) had been
honestly come by. He did not lie
when he said that he was staying at
the Hotel de rEurope, Aix-les-Bains.
honored by the late Queen Victoria
(pedantic accuracy requires the cor
rection that the august lady rented
the annex, the Villa Victoria, on the
other side of the shady way-but no
matter-a hotel and it's annex are the
same thing), nor did he lie in boast
ding of his prodigious prosperity.
A RISTIDE was in clover. For the
- first, and up to now as I write.
the only time in his life he realized
the gorgeous visions of pallid years.
He was leading the existence OF the
amazing rich. He could drink cham
pagne-not your miserable tisane at
f1ve francs a quart-but real cham
payne, with year of vintage and gout
Americana or gout Anglais marked on
label, fabulously priced; he could dine
.lavishly at the Casino restaurants or
at Nikola's. prince Of restaurateurs.
among the opulent and the fair; he
could clothe himself in attractive
raiment; he could step into flacre
and bid the man drive and not care
whittier he went or what he paid; he
could also distribute five-franc pieces
10 lame beggars.
He scattered his money abroad with
both hands. according to his expan-
Ill mt
whom he was drawing wealth out Of
an inexhaustible fount? The process
was so simple. so sure. All you had
to do was to believe in the cards on
which you staked your money. If
you knew you were going to win, you
won. Nothing could be easier.
He had drifted into Aix-les-Bains
from Geneva on the slamentable de-
termination Of a commission agency
in the matter of some patent fuel.
with q couple of louis in his pocket
forlornly Jingling the tale Of his en-
tire fortune.
As this was before the days when
you had to exhibit certificates Of
baptism, marriage, sanity and bank
balance before being allowed to enter
the barrarat rooms, Aristide paid his
two francs and made q bee line for
the tables I am afraid Aristide was
a gambler. He was never so happy
AZ when taking chances; his whole
life was a gamble. with Providence
bolding the bank.
Before the night was over he had
converted his two louis into fifty.
Tho next day they became Ave hun