The regular frequenters of the place, jockeys, bookmakers, racing touts, and other persons of dubious appearance and pursuits who make up that queer riffraff of British sporting characters always found drifting about the French metropolis, either flush after recent winnings at Longchamps or out at elbow from an extraordinary run of ill luck—all these worthies nudged each other and grinned as they watched the two Americans. There was no doubt in everyone's mind as to the nationality of the strangers. Only Yankees could afford the luxury of opening "fizz" so early in the day. What the onlookers did not know, of course, was that an event of exceptional importance had brought the two Americans together on this particular morning and that Tod Chase and Bascom Cooley, the well-known New York lawyer, were celebrating an auspicious event by "setting 'em up." Otherwise there would be little excuse for loitering in the small, stuffy barroom, with its pungent odor of stale beer and atmosphere thick with tobacco smoke, when the call of the beautiful world without was so strong.
It was a glorious Spring morning, one of those perfect days when Paris, decked in her loveliest raiment, is seen at her best. Under the shade of the fine oak trees lining the entire length of the noble avenue were dozens of buxom nou-nous, attractive in their neat caps and long streamer ribbons. They sat knitting and gossiping while their daintily dressed charges, happy and healthy, romped noisily in the bright sunshine. Out in the broad, immaculately clean roadway, a heavy three-horse omnibus Porte Maillot-Hôtel de Ville creaked its way up to the Place de l'Etoile.
Todhunter Chase was not a bad-looking boy. There was something about him which at once attracted the stranger. Small hours and cold bottles had spoiled his complexion somewhat, and the vernacular and usages of the Tenderloin had not improved his speech and manners. But people overlooked his foibles because of his intense good nature. Nothing could down that. Always smiling, always jolly, ever ready to go out of his way to oblige a friend, it was little wonder that he was popular. His features were well cut and his athletic, well-knit figure was well groomed. With his frank, engaging personality and more than average intelligence, there was no career in which he might not have done himself credit. But unfortunately for Tod, he was afflicted with matritis. In other words, his mother was solely to blame for his having reached the age of twenty-five without earning as much as the price of a celluloid collar button. Selfish and short sighted, as are many mothers with growing sons, the then Mrs. Chase had preferred to have her boy dangling at her skirts rather than see him prepare himself seriously to battle with the world. After leaving college without honors, he made a half-hearted effort to get something to do. He tried a dozen things and succeeded in none. Utterly unable to concentrate on any one thing he failed miserably in everything. Office routine he found irksome; discipline intolerable. So, for several years he just drifted, leading a lazy, irresponsible life that soon rendered him unfit for anything, more than gambling or carousing with his cronies. As he grew older he acquired more sense, but then it was too late. His mother at times worried about it, but more often took it philosophically. As long as the money held out, there was enough for her boy. There was plenty of time to think of his future. Tod was so popular that he would be sure to marry well. He would get some rich girl whose father would take him in as partner. Then he would find a position in life ready made. There was no hurry. Besides, would they not be rich themselves one day? Thus had Tod's career, also, been marred in a measure by the same dazzling "prospects" which had ruined his stepfather!
He was weak and he had been foolish, yet at heart Tod was not a bad sort. A little wild, perhaps, as are most boys of his age and opportunities, but by no means a fool. Anyone who took him for lacking in gray matter would make a serious mistake. His moral sense was blunted and his environments were bad—that was all. The fundamentals were good and when a man's fundamentals are good his case is never quite hopeless.
Always in buoyant spirits, to-day Tod felt especially jubilant. Things certainly seemed to have changed for the better. He had been in Paris only two weeks, and he had already secured the American agency of two of the most important French automobile makers, and on top of this unlooked-for success had come the surprising news from home that John Marsh was dead at last. The event so long waited for had actually happened. Too much good fortune is bad for anyone, and for the last few hours Tod had been celebrating not wisely, but too well. His face was flushed and his speech thick as he went on:
"The old gentleman must have been a decent sort to cash in just now. It couldn't have come at a better moment. Things at home were getting pretty queer. Jimmy will be simply tickled to death!"
His companion, a big, heavily built, coarse-looking man, considerably his senior in years, pursed his lips and nodded.
"I guess you're not sorry," he said dryly.
"Hang it! Cooley, why should I care?" cried Tod explosively. "He was nothing to me. I never even saw him. Yet—do you know—I sometimes felt a sneaking respect for the old man for the delicious way he snubbed Jimmy. No doubt he was disgusted with him long ago. You know he wouldn't see him or have anything to do with him. I guess he knew him better than any of us. Jimmy's the limit—there's no doubt of that. I'm no saint myself, but I know when to stop. The mater must have been wuzzy when she married him. She's had a peck of trouble with him—you've no idea! Of course this windfall puts everything right. I'd have given a couple of hundred to have seen Jimmy's face when he opened your cable."
Mr. Cooley smiled grimly.