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"Neither can I, Tommy." "Use a little persuasion." "But suppose he won't persuade?" "What's the use of crossing bridges," Tommy grinned. "If he won't persuade, then sit on his head anything, I don't care! The main thing is keep him!" Next morning began the conversion, or rather the persuasion, of Monsieur Dragot to remain a while longer with the Whim.
You don't know the power that man, Dragot, has! Will you run off with me to-night?" For I could not dismiss the obsession that Monsieur would prevail. "He came especially armed with government orders to find you and take you back. And I'm only afraid your heart's too straight to refuse him, even if you could, when he puts it up to your conscience! Oh, Doloria please don't cry!"
"Don't," she whispered. "You make me feel like I'm being led into a new world, with new people, and new customs, and new things!" Now her eyes widened as if making a discovery, as she added: "My fa , that is, Mr. Graham, must actually have recognized Monsieur Dragot!" "There's no other deduction," I agreed. "Our case is proved almost beyond a doubt.
The wretched Dragot, bedecked in smoking jacket and spectacles, looking uncommonly like a monkey, I thought, was lounging behind a book. He knew that the nearer uncertainty approaches a certainty the more fatal will be the result of its upsetting; that, whereas a scheme jumbled in its infancy may recover, the slightest maladjustment on the threshold of success often spells irrevocable ruin.
Monsieur Dragot turned out to be the original singed cat, for assuredly he possessed more attractive qualities inside than were exteriorly visible, and from a first shyness that did not lack charm he expanded briskly.
Then she arose and went to the rail, remarking coolly: "Please signal to have Echochee and Monsieur Dragot brought out at once." And that was the only thing she would say. To hell with what Tommy knew about women!
It's Doloria you see, my life has been sad!" "One wouldn't say so to look at you now. And I think Doloria's a thousand times prettier than Sylvia! Doloria! Just Doloria like that?" For I wanted an excuse to keep on saying it. "I I suppose so," she hesitated. "Of course, it's always had Graham after it, but what did your Monsieur Dragot say my last name was?" "He didn't say." "Then I haven't any."
Looking back along our wake I imagined the big black man standing as we had left him on the dock, gazing after us with patient regret; and I was glad to have given him the handful of coins at parting, little dreaming how many times that loaf upon the water would come floating in to me. Monsieur Dragot revealed himself more and more to our astonished eyes as we sat that night on deck.
After visiting a "dry" café, to seal this fortunate acquaintanceship as he insisted upon calling it he warmed up to us and we to him, with the result that his bags were soon carried down and stowed in our spare stateroom. Leaving him there, we went on deck. "Dragot," Tommy mused. "Speaks with a slight accent, but I can't make out what!"
"What's his name?" Tommy asked, not that that would have made any difference if his passport were in order. "Registered as 'Monsieur Dragot, of Roumania," the proprietor answered. "Roumania!" Tommy looked at me. "Let's go meet him, Jack."
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