Part 28 (2/2)

”Sure!” said she. ”It sure is hot today. You ought to thank G.o.d you ain't as fat as I am. It's awful on fat people. Well, wasn't you surprised?”

”It was most gracious of you, Mrs. Jacobs,” he said with dignity. ”I should have come in at once to express my appreciation of your--”

”Oh, that's all right. Don't mention it. You're a decent little feller, de Bosky, and I've got a heart,--although most of these mutts around here don't think so. Yes, sir, I meant it when I said you could tear up the p.a.w.n ticket and take the coat--with the best wishes of yours truly.”

”Spoken like a lady,” said he promptly. He was fanning himself with his hat.

”Mind you, I don't ask you for a penny. The slate is clean. There's the coat, layin' over there on that counter. Take it along. No one can ever say that I'd let a fellow-creature freeze to death for the sake of a five-dollar bill. No, sir! With the compliments of 'The Royal Exchange,'--if you care to put it that way.”

”But I cannot permit you to cancel my obligation, Mrs. Jacobs. I shall hand you the money inside of a fortnight. I thank you, however, for the generous impulse--”

”Cut it out,” she interrupted genially. ”Nix on the sentiment stuff. I'm in a good humour. Don't spoil it by tryin' to be polite. And don't talk about handin' me anything. I won't take it.”

”In that case, Mrs. Jacobs, I shall be obliged to leave the coat with you,” he said stiffly.

She stared. ”You mean,--you won't accept it from me?”

”I borrowed money on it. I can say no more, madam.”

”Well, I'll be--” She extended her hand again, a look of genuine pleasure in her black eyes. ”Shake hands again, Prince de Bosky. I--I understand.”

”And I--I think I understand, Princess,” said he, grasping the woman's hand.

”I hope you do,” said she huskily. ”I--I just didn't know how to go about it, that's all. Ever since that day you were in here to see me,--that bitterly cold day,--I've been trying to think of a way to--And so I waited till it turned so hot that you'd know I wasn't trying to do it out of charity--You _do_ understand, don't you, Prince?”

”Perfectly,” said he, very soberly.

”I feel better than I've felt in a good long time,” she said, drawing a long breath.

”That's the way we all feel sometimes,” said he, smiling. ”No doubt it's the sun,” he added. ”We haven't seen much of it lately.”

”Quit your kiddin',” she cried, donning her mask again and relapsing into the vernacular of the district.

He bore the coat in triumph to the work-shop of M. Mirabeau, and loudly called for moth-b.a.l.l.s as he mounted the steps.

”I jest, good friend,” he explained, as the old Frenchman laid aside his tools and started for the shelves containing a vast a.s.sortment of boxes and packages. ”Time enough for all that. At four o'clock I am due at Spangler's for a rehearsal of the celebrated Royal Hungarian Orchestra, imported at great expense from Budapesth. I leave the treasure in your custody. Au revoir!” He had thrown the coat on the end of the work bench.

”You will return for dinner,” was M. Mirabeau's stern reminder. ”A pot roast tonight, Bramble has announced. We will dine at six, since you must report at seven.”

”In my little red coat,” sang out de Bosky blithely.

”Mon dieu!” exclaimed the Frenchman, in dismay, running his fingers over the lining of the coat. ”They are already at work. The moths! See! Ah, _le diable!_ They have devoured--”

”What!” cried de Bosky, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the coat.

”The arm pits and--ah, the seams fall apart! One could thrust his hand into the hole they have made. Too late!” he groaned. ”They have ruined it, my friend.”

De Bosky leaned against the bench, the picture of distress. ”What will my friend, the safe-blower, say to this? What will he think of me for--”

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