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while the chef in the kitchen glared furiously at his omelette souffle, and vowed terrible things to M'sieu Zhames if he looked at Celeste more than twice a day. "Good morning," said M'sieu Zhames, hanging up his towel. His face glowed as the result of the vigorous rubbing it had received. "Bon jour!" admiringly. "Don't give me any of your bong joors, Miss," stolidly.
She eyed him, her head inclined roguishly to one side, the exact attitude of a bird that has suddenly met a curious and disturbing specimen of insect life. "M'sieu Zhames, Mees Annesley rides thees morning. "He is charming and handsome, With his uniform and saber; And his fine black eyes Look love as he rides by!"
"That's all," said Zhames; and he stood watching the colonel with dread in his eyes. "Well, of all the damn fools!" "Sir?" "Of all the jackasses!" Warburton bit his lip angrily. The colonel swung the rose to and fro. "Yes, sir, a damn fool!" "I dare say that I am, sir. But I have gone too far to back out now. Will you give me back that rose, Colonel?" "What do you mean by her?" coldly.
Here Miss Annesley kissed the baby, and Warburton hoped that they hadn't washed its face since he performed the same act. Mrs. Jack disappeared with the hope of the family, and Nancy got out a bundle of photographs. M'sieu Zhames would have given almost anything he possessed to know what these photographs represented. Crane his neck as he would, he could see nothing. All he could do was to watch.
Mademoiselle Celeste screamed with laughter, whether at the sight of the pies or M'sieu Zhames, is more than I can say. James rose to his feet, the cuss-words of a corporal rumbled behind his lips. He sent an energetic kick toward Pierre, who succeeded in eluding it. Pierre's eyes were full of tears. What a kitchen! What a kitchen!
It began with a joke that turned out wrong." "Indeed?" sarcastically. "Let me hear about this joke." M'sieu Zhames dallied no longer, but plunged boldly into his narrative. Sometimes the colonel stared at him as if he beheld a species of lunatic absolutely new to him, sometimes he laughed silently, sometimes he frowned.
How M'sieu Zhames would have liked to jump down and pommel Monsieur le Comte! Several wicked thoughts surged through our jehu's brain, but to execute any one of them in her presence was impossible. "Good night, Count. I shall see you at dinner on Monday." She would, eh? And her new butler would be on duty that same evening? Without a doubt.
I can not call heem out; he ees a groom and knows nozzing uf zee amende honorable." Mademoiselle summoned M'sieu Zhames. She desired to make the comedy complete in all its phases. "James, whenever you are called upon to act in the capacity of butler, you must clear the table after the guests leave it. This is imperative. I do not wish the scullery girl to handle the porcelain save in the tubs.
Extraorrdinaire!" She tripped away, laughing, while the chef tugged at his royal and M'sieu Zhames whistled. "Hang the witch!" the new groom murmured. "Her mistress must be very generous, or very positive of her own charms, to keep a sprite like this maid about her. I wonder if I'll run into Karloff?" Karloff! The name chilled him, somehow. What was Karloff to her?
M'sieu Zhames vowed under his breath that if he got a good chance he would make the count look ridiculous. Not even a king can retain his dignity while a stream of hot soup is trickling down his spinal column. Warburton smiled. He was mentally acting like a school-boy disappointed in love. His own keen sense of the humorous came to his rescue. "James, to the city, No. Scott Circle, and hurry."
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