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Madame Innerarity recovered. A warm affection was all she and her husband could pay such ministration in, and this they paid bountifully; the four became friends. The little madame found herself drawn most toward Clotilde; to her she opened her heart and her wardrobe, and showed her all her beautiful new underclothing.
The tears were rolling down Sylvestre's face. "My friends, we must not do this! You shall not do it!" He hurled away, with twice his natural strength, one who put out a hand. "No, sirs!" cried Raoul, "you shall not do it! I come from Honoré! Touch her who dares!" He drew a weapon. "Monsieur Innerarity," said 'Polyte, "who is Monsieur Honoré Grandissime?
Cable is the only master in the writing of French dialects that the country has produced; and he reads them in perfection. It was a great treat to hear him read about Jean-ah Poquelin, and about Innerarity and his famous 'pigshoo' representing 'Louisihanna RIF-fusing to Hanter the Union, along with passages of nicely-shaded German dialect from a novel which was still in manuscript.
'Sieur Frowenfeld, M. Innerarity said, was out, but would certainly be in in a few minutes, and she was persuaded to take a chair against the half-hidden door at the bottom of the shop with the little borrowed maid crouched at her feet.
Such was the choice presented by Honoré Grandissime to Joseph Frowenfeld, as the former on a lively brown colt and the apothecary on a nervy chestnut fell into a gentle, preliminary trot while yet in the rue Royale, looked after by that great admirer of both, Raoul Innerarity. "Douane?" said Frowenfeld. "It has mud-holes," objected Honoré. "Well, then, the rue du Canal?"
Innerarity," exclaimed the apothecary, "I fear you are making a great mistake." "You tink I hass too much?" "Well, sir, to be candid, I do; but that is not your greatest mistake." "What she's worse?" The apothecary simultaneously smiled and blushed. "I would rather not say; it is a passably good example of Creole art; there is but one way by which it can ever be worth what you ask for it."
I want you to say, 'My frien', 'Sieur Innerarity, never care to sell anything; 'tis for egs-hibby-shun'; mais when somebody look at it, so," the artist cast upon his work a look of languishing covetousness, "'you say, foudre tonnerre! what de dev'! I take dat ris-pon-sibble-ty you can have her for two hun'red fifty dollah! Better not be too proud, eh, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?"
He found the apothecary among his clerks, preparing with his own hands the "chalybeate tonic" for which the f.m.c. was expected to call. Raoul Innerarity stood at his elbow, looking on with an amiable air of having been superseded for the moment by his master. "Ha-ah! Professor Frowenfeld!" The old man nourished his scroll.
MR. Raoul Innerarity proved a treasure. The fact became patent in a few hours. To a student of the community he was a key, a lamp, a lexicon, a microscope, a tabulated statement, a book of heraldry, a city directory, a glass of wine, a Book of Days, a pair of wings, a comic almanac, a diving bell, a Creole veritas. Before the day had had time to cool, his continual stream of words had done more to elucidate the mysteries in which his employer had begun to be befogged than half a year of the apothecary's slow and scrupulous guessing. It was like showing how to carve a strange fowl. The way he dovetailed story into story and drew forward in panoramic procession Lufki-Humma and Epaminondas Fusilier, Zephyr Grandissime and the lady of the lettre de cachet, Demosthenes De Grapion and the fille
He pointed savagely here and there. "M. Innerarity, I am lost in admiration at the all but craven patience with which our people endure their wrongs! Do my pistols show too much through my coat? Well, good-day; I must go home and clean my gun; my dear friend, one don't know how soon he may have to encounter the Recorder and Register of Land-titles." Raoul finished his errand.
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