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Updated: June 17, 2025
Sometime later Tommy, with, a fine show of indifference, said over his demitasse: "By the way, if we land to-morrow this is your last chance to open that treasure box." "Treasure box?" "Yes, the little safe I found tucked down in Efaw Kotee's trunk. Jack and I intended to tackle it to-night, but since he's knocked out I've lost interest."
Next from behind the mirror he produced a diminutive coffee pot into which he measured, with extreme care, just so much of the ground berry, being rather over-nice about his demitasse.
I shuddered. "That depends on who she is, Monsieur," replied the Colonel, curtly. "Good heavens!" I gasped, looking about me. The Colonel, who was eyeing me sarcastically, had had his demitasse of cafe noir, and now drank his tasse, diffusing a pleasant perfume of brandy.
He don't do the bib act with his napkin, or try any sword-swallowin' stunt. "Now, what's it all about?" says I, as we gets to the pastry and demitasse. "Well," says Killam, after glancin' around sleuthy and seein' nobody more suspicious than a yawnin' 'bus boy, "I have found the lost treasure of José Caspar." "Have you?" says I, through a mouthful of strawb'ry shortcake. "When did he lose it?"
No man can partake of excellent wines and cigars for any length of time without feeling his oats, as the saying goes; and the Colonel proved no exception to the rule. He had just finished a bottle of Burgundy and, as he sat in the garden with his sister, sipping his demitasse and inhaling the fragrant aroma of a Havana, he began to feel the return of his nerve.
I asked, wondering if this might be the explanation of my uncanny notion that I had sometime in my life seen this man bending over his demitasse as he had done a few minutes before. "Oh, yes," he said, "your mother, as I have told you, was the dearest friend I ever had. And your father was my other self then "
"You see, Torchy," says Zenobia, droppin' two lumps into her demitasse, "I am an unbeliever. I don't even believe in growing old. When I hear of other persons who have come to disbelieve in established things, no matter what, I send for them and find out all about it across the dinner table. We discuss art, religion, politics, goodness knows what.
I wa'n't followin' it very close until Martha gets to askin' Ballard about some of his people, and he starts in on this story about his nephew. "Poor Dick!" says he, pushin' back his demitasse and lightin' up a big perfecto. "Now if he'd been my boy, things might have turned out differently. But my respected brother well, you knew Richard, Martha.
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