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Updated: May 26, 2025
"We will use only matches for counters. Merci, merci, Monsieur l'Administrateur! You are very good. Please, will you give me now the note to Ah You?" As he limped away with it, the governor poured me an inch of absinthe. "Sapristi!" he exclaimed. "O Lalala! O, la, la, la!" He burst into laughter. "He will play ze bloff?" I spent that evening with Kriech, the German trader of Taka-Uka.
Strange, costly creatures popping in and out of little wooden houses, seated, solitary on artificial rocks, or pacing up and down within the limits prescribed by the keeper of the show tell us, 'Monsieur l'administrateur, something about their habits; stick some labels into the sand with their Latin names, tell us how they manage to feather their nests, whether they 'ruminate' over their food and we shall have added to our store of knowledge at the seaside!
He had been travelling in the interior of the province for a syndicate of European capitalists. His forcible "Monsieur l'Administrateur" returning every minute shrilled above the steady hum of conversations. He was relating his discoveries. He was ecstatic. Charles Gould glanced down at him courteously. At a given moment of these necessary receptions it was Mrs.
In the comparative peace of the room the screaming "Monsieur l'Administrateur" of the frail, hairy Frenchman seemed to acquire a preternatural shrillness. The explorer of the Capitalist syndicate was still enthusiastic. "Ten million dollars' worth of copper practically in sight, Monsieur l'Administrateur. Ten millions in sight! And a railway coming a railway! They will never believe my report.
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