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The Man Who Disliked Cats
by
We are twin souls. She has thanked me again. She has scolded the parrot. She has smiled upon me as she retires to her room. It is enough. Nothing is said, but I am a man of sensibility and discernment, and I understand that she will not be offended if I seek to renew our friendship on a more suitable occasion.
The doors shut. The guests have returned to bed, the hotel servants to their duties. And I go back to my room. But not to sleep. It is very late, but I do not sleep. I lie awake and think of ‘er.
You will conceive, Monsieur, with what mixed feelings I descend next morning. On the one ‘and, I must keep the sharp look-out for my uncle, for ‘im I must avoid till he shall have–what do you say in your idiom? Yes, I have it–simmered down and tucked in his shirt. On the other ‘and, I must watch for my lady of the parrot. I count the minutes till we shall meet again.
I avoid my uncle with success, and I see ‘er about the hour of dejeuner. She is talking to old gentleman. I have bowed. She have smiled and motioned me to approach.
‘Father,’ she has said, ‘this is the gentleman who caught Polly.’
We have shaken hands. He is indulgent papa. He has smiled and thanked me also. We have confided to each other our names. He is English. He owns much land in England. He has been staying in Paris. He is rich. His name is ‘Enderson. He addresses his daughter, and call her Marion. In my ‘eart I also call her Marion. You will perceive that I am, as you say, pretty far gone.
The hour of dejeuner has arrived. I entreat them to be my guests. I can run to it, you understand, for there are still in my pockets plenty of my uncle’s francs. They consent. I am in ‘eaven.
All is well. Our friendship has progressed with marvellous speed. The old gentleman and I are swiftly the dear old pals. I ‘ave confided to ‘im my dreams of artistic fame, and he has told me ‘ow much he dislikes your Lloyd George. He has mentioned that he and Miss Marion depart for London that day. I am desolate. My face tumbles. He has observed my despair. He has invited me to visit them in London.
Imagine my chagrin. To visit them in London is the one thing I desire to do. But how? I accept gratefully, but I ask myself how it is to be done? I am poor blighter with no profession and nine ‘undred francs. He ‘as taken it for granted that I am wealthy.
What shall I do? I spend the afternoon trying to form a plan. And then I am resolved. I will go to my uncle and say: ‘Uncle, I have the magnificent chance to marry the daughter of wealthy English landowner. Already I ‘ave her gratitude. Soon–for I am young, ‘andsome, debonair–I shall ‘ave her love. Give me one more chance, uncle. Be decent old buck, and put up the money for this affair.’
These words I have resolved to say to my uncle.
I go back to the hotel. I enter his private office. I reveal no secret when I say that he is not cordial.
‘Ten thousand devils!’ he has cried. ‘What do you here?’
I ‘asten to tell him all, and plead with him to be decent old buck. He does not believe.
Who is he? he asks. This English landowner? How did I meet him? And where?
I tell him. He is amazed.
‘You ‘ad the infernal impudence to take room in my hotel?’ he has cried.
I am crafty. I am diplomat.
‘Where else, dear uncle?’ I say. ‘In all Paris there is no such ‘ome from ‘ome. The cuisine–marvellous! The beds–of rose-leaves! The attendance–superb! If only for one night, I have said to myself, I must stay in this of all hotels.’