ON TO FRANCE.
It was morning when four exhausted, dust-covered persons rode into
Tangier and hastened to the house of the United States Consul. They were
Professor Scotch, Ephraim Gallup, Frank Merriwell and Igela.
Ain-el-Khair had kept his word in every particular. He had escorted them
almost to the very gate of the city.
“We must get out of Morocco before the truth is known concerning the
attack on that caravan,” said Frank. “We shall be branded as robbers,
and a price will be placed on our heads.”
“Which is a very pleasant thing to contemplate!” said the professor.
At the house of the United States Consul a surprise awaited them. Mr.
Adams listened to their story, and then said:
“There seems to be a case of mistaken identity mixed up in this affair.
Last night a young man who has just crossed the desert from Fez, after
escaping from the castle of Bab-el-Maroc, came to me for protection and
aid. He has told me his story, which, together with what I have heard
from Mr. Merriwell, has thrown some light on a very singular matter.”
He opened a door and called to a person in an adjoining room. A moment
later a rather thin and pale youth entered the parlor.
“Permit me to introduce you to Mr. Frank Parker, gentlemen,” said the
consul. “Mr. Parker is from London. Mr. Parker—Mr. Merriwell, Professor
Scotch, Mr. Gallup, all from the United States. And this is——”
He was interrupted by a cry from Igela, who had been standing and
staring at Frank Parker as if turned to stone. Her eyes passed from
Parker’s face to that of Frank Merriwell; from one to the other she
looked a score of times, and then she ran into Parker’s arms.
“Remarkable!” exclaimed Scotch—“very remarkable! Why, Frank, this Parker
looks enough like you to be your brother—your twin brother. It is an
astonishing resemblance.”
“That is true,” smiled Frank; “and I fancy I have been taken for Mr.
Parker by more than one person. Igela, Ben Ahmet and Ali Mustaf all
believed that I was Parker. Ben Ahmet believed it, even though he had
left Parker confined in the castle of Bab-el-Maroc, hundreds of miles
away. Igela believed I had escaped from that castle and come here to
Tangier, which explains some things she said to me. The whole matter is
clearing up.”
It was clearing up, but, somehow, Frank felt as if he had lost something
of wonderful value. He saw Igela in the arms of his counterpart and then
he turned away.
Mr. Adams hastily and briefly explained how Igela’s father, having lost
the wife he loved, and being very fond of his daughter, whom he regarded
as a mere child, had carried her with him on one of his business
expeditions to London. There she had met Frank Parker and had fallen in
love with him. From that moment it was the girl’s aim and ambition to
perfect herself in the English language, which she studied persistently,
speaking it with her black servant, who had once been in England, and
knew the language. This explained how it came about that the Pearl of
Tangier could speak such perfect English.
Igela returned to Morocco with her father, but she did not forget Frank
Parker, who had promised to come for her some day and take her away with
him. Her father died, and she fell into the hands of her uncle. Then she
wrote an appeal to Parker, telling him he must come soon, or she would
be forced to marry.
Parker had traveled in France and Spain by himself; but he dared not
tell his folks that he was going to Morocco and why he was going. He
obtained consent to visit Paris, and, without delay, he hastened to
Morocco, crossed the desert to Fez, saw Igela, tried to carry her off,
was captured and confined in a dungeon, from which he was never to be
released.
For an English youth he was a wonder. He found an opportunity to attack
and slay the keeper who had brought him food, and he escaped in the
man’s clothes. By rare fortune he had been able to get across the desert
to Tangier.
When they had heard this story from the lips of Mr. Adams, Frank told
how Igela had been rescued, and that it was likely the entire party
would be branded as robbers with very little delay.
“You must all get out of the country immediately,” said Mr. Adams. “I
know a very wealthy gentleman who is lying off Tangier in his steam
yacht, in which he contemplates a cruise up the Mediterranean. You must
get aboard that yacht without delay, and he must take you all away. If
the girl goes she must be taken through Tangier as a boy—she must be
disguised.”
Arrangements for the attempt were quickly made, and the party succeeded
in getting on board the yacht, which carried them from Tangier to
Marseilles, in France.
By that time Frank Parker had related his story in detail a score of
times, and all confessed it a most wonderful and remarkable adventure.
Igela had discarded her veil in the house of the United States Consul,
and she declared she would never wear it again. She was very pretty.
“I am going to London to become a Christian,” she said, laughing.
“You are going to London to become——”
Parker whispered the final words in her ear, and she laughed again, her
dark eyes glowing, her cheeks warm with color.
In Paris the party separated, for Parker and the girl hastened onward
toward London.
“And now to see the sights of Paris,” said Frank. “No more Arabs for
me.”
“Nor me, by gosh,” replied Ephraim.
Accommodations were procured at a leading hotel, and after a few days of
much-needed rest all hands set out to “do” Paris in earnest.
All would have gone well, but Professor Scotch had suddenly taken it
into his head to visit the tomb of a very great personage buried in that
vicinity.
And he wanted to take Frank with him, so that the youth got little
chance to go elsewhere, excepting on the sly.
At last, at the end of two weeks, Frank began to feel bored.
“I didn’t come to Paris to see tombs,” he declared, almost fiercely.
“Think of coming to Paris, the gayest city in the world, to visit tombs!
Besides that, I have seen the tomb of Napoleon already, and that is
quite enough.”
“But——” objected the professor.
“It’s no use,” cried the boy. “I won’t go!”
“An’ when he says he won’t, yeou kin bet yeour boots he won’t,” drawled
Ephraim Gallup, who was lounging in an easy-chair, with his long legs
piled on top of a small table. “I know him.”
“I never saw such a boy!” stormed the professor, in his big, hoarse
voice. “What is the use to travel in order to broaden one’s knowledge of
the world unless one sees everything he can? If your uncle had lived——”
“I’d still be in the military school at Fardale. There’s no question
about that.”
“But think of the things you have not seen in Paris!”
“Think of the things I have seen! Thirteen tombs! Oh, say! I’ve had a
great time seeing things put down in the guidebooks, but now I’d like to
see something the guidebooks do not mention.”
Professor Scotch held up both hands, a look of horror on his face.
“Dear! dear!” he gasped. “I fear you are becoming depraved. It is
dreadful!”
“Can’t help it,” confessed Frank, with a sigh. “It’s in the air. One
catches it in Paris. If it were not for you, professor, I believe I
would visit the Moulin Rouge to-night.”
“What is the Moulin Rouge? My, my! But it must be a terrible place!”
“It is the most famous dance hall in all Paris.”
“Dreadful, dreadful! See how you would go astray if it were not for my
protecting care. Er—ah—what do they do at this terrible Moulin Rouge?”
“They dance, professor. The artists’ models go there, and they kick off
your hat and chuck you under the chin and do other things. They are said
to be very handsome, if one does not mind powder and paint. All the
Americans go to the Moulin Rouge. They wouldn’t think of going to such a
place at home, but in Paris it is different and all right.”
“Scandalous! I am ashamed of my countrymen. And how much does it cost to
visit this dreadful place?”
“Not much, professor—a little something for beer, or wine, whichever you
may choose to drink.”
“Ha! hum! Hum! ha! But you know I never drink beer, and I take wine only
when I feel that the condition of my system makes me require a tonic.”
“Well, what do you say, professor—do we visit the Moulin Rouge?”
“Goodness, no! We cannot take such chances; but—er—ah!—I think it would
be a good plan for me to—er—just drop around there and see if it is
a—ah!—suitable place for you boys to visit. Ahem!”
It was with no little difficulty the boys kept their faces straight, for
they felt a strong inclination to burst into laughter. Indeed, Frank
gave Ephraim such a comical wink that the boy from Vermont fairly
doubled up in his effort to hold in, and then gave an explosive snort.
“What’s that?” roared the professor, jumping and whirling about. “Are
you laughing at me, sir?”
“I ain’t larfin’,” declared Ephraim.
“Then what are you doing, sir?”
“I’m cryin’.”
“Crying?”
“Yep.”
“Why are you crying?”
“Because yeou won’t take us with ye to this air Moulin Rouge. Boo-hoo!”
“There, there, there! That will do! I am ashamed of you! When I have
satisfied myself that it is a suitable place, I will take you there—not
before. When—ah!—at what time does this place open?”
“It will open early to-night, professor,” said Frank, “for this is the
night after the Grand Prix, and the French horses all beat the English
in the races to-day. Oh, those races, professor! And you would not let
us take them in!”
“Horse racing is very immoral—very. There can be no question about that.
I am not certain the Moulin Rouge is immoral, and so I am going to
investigate.”
He looked at his watch, eyed the boys a moment, and then added.
“I think I will not dine at the hotel to-night. Needn’t expect me. If
the Moulin Rouge is all right, I may be back for you. You are tired of
sight-seeing, so it will do you good to stay in the hotel and rest.
Don’t worry if I am not back till quite late. Be good, boys.”
Then the professor found his high hat and cane and walked sedately out
of the room.
The moment the door was closed Ephraim leaped up and gave a kick of
delight that came near bringing down the chandelier, while Frank lay
back in his chair and laughed heartily but silently.
“There,” said Merriwell, “I told you I’d find a way to shake him
to-night. It’s a dreadful bore to follow him around and watch him
running here and there over the city, guidebook in hand, trying to find
another tomb that is worth looking at. Churches and palaces and public
buildings in such quantities as we have stacked up against lately are
enough to give a fellow that tired feeling. Besides that, to-night is
the night of nights in Paris. We didn’t get to the races, but we will go
out and watch the Parisians make merry, and we will not have the
professor to encumber us.”
“I’ll be hung ef yeou didn’t work it slick, Frank,” cried Ephraim,
admiringly. “I didn’t think we could git rid uv him nohaow.”
“But we did, and we had better leave the hotel very soon, for fear he
may change his mind and come back.”
So it happened that the boys left the hotel shortly after the professor
went out. Later they were seated at the corner table of the Café de la
Paix, which juts the farthest out into the Avenue de l’Opera and the
Boulevard Capucines.
This particular table afforded them the finest boulevard view to be
obtained in Paris, and they were fortunate in obtaining it. It was
located exactly under the “de la” of the “Café de la Paix,” which was
painted in red letters on the awning over their heads.
About this table flowed the tide of pedestrians from the avenue and the
boulevard, and from their admirable position the boys could watch the
square in front of the opera house, the boulevard and the three great
streets running into it from the river.
Of course the boys were obliged to order drinks that they might sit
there at that table, but the liquid remained untouched, while they
watched the throngs that came and went like great waves of life.
“There,” said Frank, with a sigh of relief. “If we remain here an hour
or so, we’ll see everybody worth seeing in Paris.”
Near them was a crowd of New Yorkers, young men and women, drinking wine
and making merry in the open air after a fashion that would have filled
them with horror had they seen a similar party doing such a thing at the
corner of Broadway and Fifth Avenue.
It was near six in the afternoon, one of the most propitious times for
seeing the boulevards.
“These air French youngsters make me sick,” drawled Ephraim, as he
watched some boys with broad velvet collars and stocks go by. “What
makes ’em dress that air way?”
“They think it is English, you know,” smiled Frank.
“Wal, the only place I’ve been where folks don’t seem to be tryin’ to do
something English is in Africy, among the niggers. In New York they was
tryin’ to be English, an’ it was the same in Valparaiso and Buenos
Ayres. Naow they seem to have it here in Paris. By gum! I am a Yankee
from the crown uv my feet to the sole uv my head, an’ I don’t make no
monkey uv myself tryin’ to act like the English an’ dress like um.”
“Sir, awe you aware, sir, that there may be English gentlemen present
who may take—aw—exceptions to your langwage? Such remarks awe of an
insulting ordah, don’t yer ’now. You may-aw—get youahself into a
blooming bit of trouble by such langwage.”
The individual who said this was young in years, with a light-draft
mustache, an eyeglass and the dress of an English tourist. He paused
near the table and surveyed the boys with an aggravating stare. He was a
rather well-built young fellow, but there was a decidedly vapid
expression on his face.
The moment Frank saw this person he decided it was not their first
meeting. The face was familiar.
There was an unoccupied chair at the table, and, with insolent coolness,
the stranger appropriated it.
“Wal, gol dern my eyes!” spluttered Ephraim. “Fer a crust that beoats
anything I ever struck!”
“Aw!” drawled the stranger, “I wish to give you some advice, don’t yer
’now.”
“Wal, jest yeou save it for them that wants it, mister.”
“Verwy rude, cwecher,” said the unknown, screwing the single-barreled
eyeglass into his eye and surveying Ephraim. “I wondah why they don’t
keep such things in America. By Jawve! it is a genuwine cuwieosity.”
“Darn my punkins!” exploded the boy from Vermont. “Yeou’re a freak,
that’s what yeou be!”
“Sir, this may lead to—a—aw—challenge.”
“Challenge be hanged!” came hotly from the aroused Yankee boy. “Ef
yeou’re an Englishman, I kin lick the stuffin’ aout uv yeou.”
“Sir, one Englishman is good faw three nawsty Americans.”
“Wal, I be derned ef it has proved that way in the past! The Yankees
licked yeou in the fust place with a handful uv ragged, barefooted,
half-starved fellers, an’ then, when yeou wasn’t satisfied an’ tried to
play the bully on the high seas, the Yankees gave ye another good
wallopin’. An ef yeou want it, yeou kin have some more uv the same
medicine, only we’ll lick yer a darned sight wus the next time. We might
jest ez well have it aout over Venezuela as anything else, but thutter!
We’ll give ye Yankee Doodle and the Monroe Doctrine right aout uv the
muzzles uv aour guns, and, by——”
Frank placed a restraining hand on his companion’s arm.
“Be quiet, Ephraim,” he said. “Sir,” turning to the stranger, “we have
not the advantage of knowing you, and still I——”
“My name is Awthur Lumley, of London. I have a cawd, and——”
“Never mind your card,” smiled Frank. “I know you now, and I compliment
you on your acting. You are Harvey Wynne, at one time a reporter on a
New York newspaper.”
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