The judge now found tongue and repelled the insinuation that he was enorme.
“You think I am large? You should see my partner. He always rides in two carriages, and once when he slipped on the icy sidewalk, the people for half a mile around thought it was an earthquake.”
“Pardon, Monsieur,” I added, “Son Excellence, Monsieur le juge,” and I waved my hand in the direction of my friend, “is not as heavy as you may think. He is nothing but a big bag of wind, as you would find if you should stick a fork into him.”
This raised a laugh in which the manager joined. The judge retorted on me with a remark which personal respect impels me to keep back from this narrative. It was sufficient to raise another laugh, and under the diversion thus created we got the manager into good humor. We brought him around all right, but I firmly believe it would have cost us more if he had seen us before the ticket had been paid for and delivered. As we bowed out of the room the judge was in the rear and caught the manager’s remark to the agent.
“Mon Dieu! Ils sont énormes.”
The “Doubter,” not knowing French, was standing by during the conversation without the faintest idea of what was occurring. He looked on with an expression similar to that of a pig contemplating a railway train, and when we got outside he asked what it was all about.
“Something very serious,” said the judge. “The manager objected to so much weight, and wanted you to remain behind. We tried to compromise with him, but it was of no use, and you are to stay in Beyrout till we return.”
Then the “Doubter” exploded, said he wouldn’t stay, and furthermore, he believed the judge was not telling him the truth; his doubts were so strong on the subject, that when we reached the hotel he hired an English-speaking dragoman to accompany him to the stage company’s office and learn the exact state of the case.