Part 23 (1/2)
”What is this?” she demanded with the manner she could so well a.s.sume, that of a woman of the Commune who meant to right her wrongs.
The purchaser of sauce and potato salad, the two cheapest and most filling of the wares, held up rather sheepishly a blue serge suit.
”Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! Come quick! It is your suit--and no Frenchman, as I said, but a Prussian, no doubt.”
The grenadier slid quickly from behind the counter and putting her brawny arm out, held the door firmly, so that no escape could be possible.
CHAPTER XIX.
WASTED DYE.
Judy emerged from behind the curtains which divided the family living room from the little shop, the platter of tongue held high. In her cap and ap.r.o.n, she reminded one of a Howard Pyle ill.u.s.tration for some holiday number of a magazine.
”Gee, what a beaut!” exclaimed the taller of the two strangers.
The one with the serge suit dropped it and made a rush for the girl. He had her in his arms, platter of tongue and all, before Mere Tricot could rescue it. But that dame managed to extricate the big dish before any greater damage was done than disarranging the effect of a wreath of autumn leaves.
Hearts that were broken may be mended but platters of smoked tongue must not be dropped on the floor and smashed.
”Oh, Judy gal, Judy gal! Tell me all about it!”
”Kent! Kent! I thought you were drowned and have gone into mourning for you,” sobbed Judy.
As for Jim Castleman, in the most execrable and impossible French, he was explaining to good Mother Tricot how it all happened, and Father Tricot hastened to the shop from his carving to find out what it was all about, and then such a handshaking and hugging as ensued was never seen!
”We were all about to sit down to _dejeuner a la fourchette_,” said the ever hospitable old man, ”and if the young gentlemen would come with us, we should be much honoured.”
The grenadier was equally pleased to have them and, indeed, Jim Castleman was so hungry by that time that he would have eaten cold spinach with his fingers.
How that old couple plied the young Americans with their delightful food and how they listened to their tale of s.h.i.+pwreck and rescue! When Kent told of their fooling the Prussians with Tutno, the childish language they had known in their youth, the Tricots laughed with such glee that a gendarme put his head in the door to see what it was all about. When Jim Castleman in a speech that sounded more like Tutno than Parisian French, informed his hosts that he was there to join the army of Joffre, old Mere Tricot helped him to two more tarts, although he had already eaten enough of them to furnish dessert for any ordinary French family of four.
”And now, Madame,” said Kent to his hostess, ”I want you to do another thing for me. You have done so many things already that maybe I should not ask you.”
”What is it, mon brave?” and the old woman smiled very kindly on the young American, whom she had not half an hour before called a Prussian and accused of stealing Judy's serge suit.
”I am to be married very soon and I want you to help me out in it.”
”Married!” Judy gasped.
”Yes, Miss Judy Kean, I am to be married and so are you. What's more, it is to be just as soon as the French law will tie the knot.”
”Well, of all----”
”Yes, of all the slippery parties, I know you are the slipperiest and I have no idea of letting you get away. Am I right, Jim?”
Jim was too busy with a tart to be coherent. He nodded his head, however, and when Kent put the same question to Mere Tricot in French, she upheld him.