"Where can I see this apparatus?" I asked my patient interviewer.
"Well—ahem! it isn't what you'd call an apparatus, exactly. I have here——"
"Yes; never mind that just now; I'm satisfied you've got a good thing and —I'll tell you! Can you come in to-morrow at this hour? Good! I wish you would! Well, good-day."
The secretary was waiting to speak to me. The fire, he said, had entirely burned up one square and was half through a second. "By the way, isn't that the street where old P.T.B.——"
"Yes," I replied, taking my hat; "if anyone wants to see me, you'd better tell him to call to-morrow."
I found the shop in St. Peter's Street shut, and went on to the new residence. As I came near it, its beauty seemed to me to have consciously increased under the threatenings of destruction.
In the front gate stood the brother-in-law's widow, full of gestures and distressful smiles as she leaned out with nervously folded arms and looked up and down the street. "Manouvrier? he is ad the fire since a whole hour. He will break his heart if dat fire ketch to dat 'ouse here. He cannot know 'ow 'tis in danger! Ah! sen' him word? I sen' him fo' five time'—he sen' back I stay righd there an' not touch nut'n'! Ah! my God! I fine dat varrie te-de-ous, me, yass!"
"Is his wife with him?"
"Assuredly! You see, dey git 'fraid 'bout dat 'ouse of de Sister', you know?"
"No, where is it?"