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The painter of "Louisiana refusing to enter the Union" stood before him, his head elevated loftily, one foot set forward and his arm extended like a tragedian's. "Stan' bag-sah!" "Let me pass! Let me pass, or I will kill you!" Mr. Innerarity smote his bosom and tossed his hand aloft. "Kill me-firse an' pass aftah!" "Citizen Fusilier," said Frowenfeld, "I beg you to hear me." "Go away! Go away!"
M. Raoul Innerarity hesitated a moment before replying: "'Sieur Frowenfel', I think it is a foolishness to be too proud, eh?
"Doctah Keene, look yeh!" M. Innerarity held up a hand whose third finger wore the conventional ring of the Creole bridegroom. "W'at you got to say to dat?" The little doctor felt a faintness run through his veins, and a thrill of anger follow it. The poor man could not imagine a love affair that did not include Clotilde Nancanou. "Whom have you married?" "De pritties' gal in de citty."
What can we say? It is Honoré Grandissime. We can only say, 'Farewell! He is gone over to the enemy." The new cause of exasperation was the defection of Raoul Innerarity. Raoul had, somewhat from a distance, contemplated such part as he could understand of Joseph Frowenfeld's character with ever-broadening admiration. We know how devoted he became to the interests and fame of "Frowenfeld's."
If you insist to know who make dat pigshoe de hartis' stan' bif-ore you!" "It is your work?" "'Tis de work of me, Raoul Innerarity, cousin to de disting-wish Honoré Grandissime. I swear to you, sir, on stack of Bible' as 'igh as yo' head!" He smote his breast. "Do you wish to put it in the window?" "Yes, seh." "For sale?"
Innerarity, as an exercise it is worth whatever truth or skill it has taught you; to a judge of paintings it is ten dollars' worth of paint thrown away; but as an article of sale it is worth what it will bring without misrepresentation."
Frowenfeld's thoughts were still on the same theme when, the day having passed, the hour was approaching wherein Innerarity was exhorted to tell his good-night story in the merry circle at the distant Grandissime mansion. As the apothecary was closing his last door for the night, the fairer Honoré called him out into the moonlight.
M. Innerarity replied, with a profane parenthesis, that it was he. "You kin hask Sylvestre!" he concluded.
Percy Chilton a Dudley Arthur Puig y Puig a De Armas MacKnight Violett Avendano Rob Rareshide Guy Palfrey a Morse, a Bien, a Fuentes a Grandissme once more! Aleck Moise Ralph Fenner Ned Ferry! and lo! a Raoul Innerarity, image of his grandfather's portrait and a Jules St.
They had but a moment of hand-in-hand converse before they were hustled forth by a feminine scouting party and thrust along into one of the great rooms of the house, where the youth and beauty of the Grandissimes were gathered in an expansive semicircle around a languishing fire, waiting to hear a story, or a song, or both, or half a dozen of each, from that master of narrative and melody, Raoul Innerarity.
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