They had reached the brilliantly lighted Champs-Élysées, where the theaters were in full blast, even at that hour. The sound of music and singing came from the tree-bowered region beyond the archway of a door, and Diamond followed Merry to the ticket-office. Frank purchased tickets, and they passed through into the garden, where hundreds of people were seated beneath the trees, gathered in groups around little tables, drinking cooling beverages, chatting, laughing, and seeming to pay very little heed to the singer on the distant stage. A breath of cool air, the scent of flowers, and the tinkle of water fountains added to the charm of the place. The shadows were above the trees, which shut off the electric lights from the sky. The boys had visited this particular café-chantant before, and they soon found a table where they could sit and talk without disturbing anybody. The orchestra sawed away when the singer had retired, and then two black-face “comedians” came out with banjos, and prepared to inflict a “turn” on the unresenting spectators.
“Just like a roof-garden act in New York,” said Frank. “I’ll guarantee those gentlemen will spring the same old gags, done over into French, and half the jokes will be robbed of their points because of the translation.”
“Well, we didn’t come here to listen to them,” said the eager and impatient Southerner. “You were going to tell me something, Merry.”
“Yes,” nodded Frank, as he ordered two lemonades from a waiter, “I feel free now to tell you the whole story, for the metal ball is no longer in my possession.”
CHAPTER XVI.
FRANK AND JACK.
“What are you talking about?” asked Jack, in a puzzled way. “Frank, has anything gone wrong with your brain?”
“I think not,” smiled Merry quietly.
“But you have acted so strangely! This is not the first time you have spoken of the metal ball, the blood-red star——”
“Which you saw fall before me, and which I have here.”