Over the door appeared a weather-worn sign that read: "JULES GROGRANDE,
BAKER." In one of the windows, painted upon a sheet of cardboard, was
another sign: "Home-made Bread by the Best Modern Machinery." There was
a third sign in the window beyond the doorway, and this was marked upon
a bit of wrapping-paper, and said: "Fresh Gingerbread Every Day."
When you opened the door, the top of it struck a brass bell suspended
from the ceiling and made it tinkle merrily. Hearing the sound, Madame
Leontine Grogrande would come from her little room back of the shop and
stand behind the counter and ask you what you would like to purchase.
Madame Leontine--or Madame Tina, as the children called her--was quite
short and quite fat; and she had a round, pleasant face that was good
to look upon. She moved somewhat slowly, for the rheumatism troubled
her more or less; but no one minded if Madame was a bit slow in tying
up her parcels. For surely no cakes or buns in all the town were so
delicious or fresh as those she sold, and she had a way of giving the
biggest cakes to the smallest girls and boys who came into her shop,
that proved she was fond of children and had a generous heart.
People loved to come to the Grogrande Bakery. When one opened the
door an exquisite fragrance of newly baked bread and cakes greeted
the nostrils; and, if you were not hungry when you entered, you were
sure to become so when you examined and smelled the delicious pies
and doughnuts and gingerbread and buns with which the shelves and
show-cases were stocked. There were trays of French candies, too; and
because all the goods were fresh and wholesome the bakery was well
patronized and did a thriving business.
The reason no one saw Monsieur Jules in the shop was because his time
was always occupied in the bakery in the rear--a long, low room filled
with ovens and tables covered with pots and pans and dishes (which the
skillful baker used for mixing and stirring) and long shelves bearing
sugars and spices and baking-powders and sweet-smelling extracts that
made his wares taste so sweet and agreeable.
[Illustration: AN ARAB DASHED INTO THE ROOM.]
The bake-room was three times as big as the shop; but Monsieur Jules
needed all the space in the preparation of the great variety of goods
required by his patrons, and he prided himself on the fact that his
edibles were fresh-made each day. In order to have the bread and rolls
ready at breakfast time he was obliged to get up at three o'clock every
morning, and so he went to bed about sundown.
On a certain forenoon the door of the shop opened so abruptly that the
little brass bell made a furious jingling.
An Arab dashed into the room, stopped short, looked around with a
bewildered air, and then rushed away again and banged the door after
him.
Madame looked surprised, but said nothing. She recognized the Arab to
be a certain Ali Dubh, living in the neighborhood, who was accustomed
to purchase a loaf from her every morning. Perhaps he had forgotten his
money, Madame thought.
When the afternoon was half over he entered again, running as if fiends
were at his heels. In the center of the room he paused, slapped his
forehead despairingly with both palms, and said in a wailing voice:
"They're after me!"
Next moment he dashed away at full speed, even forgetting to close
the door; so Madame came from behind the counter and did it herself.
She delayed a moment to gaze at the figure of Ali Dubh racing up the
street. Then he turned the corner of an alley and disappeared from view.
[Illustration]
Things did not startle Madame easily; but the Arab's queer behavior
aroused in her a mild curiosity, and while she stood looking through
the glass of the door, and wondering what had excited the man, she
saw two strange forms glide past her shop with a stealthy motion and
proceed in the same direction Ali Dubh had taken.
They were also Arabs, without a doubt; for although their forms were
muffled in long cloaks, the turbans they wore and the glint of their
dark, beady eyes proclaimed them children of the desert.
When they came to the alley where Ali Dubh had disappeared, the two
strangers were joined by a third, who crept up to them with the sly,
cat-like tread Madame had noted, and seemed to confer with them.
Afterward one turned to the east, a second continued up the street, and
the third stole into the alley.
"Yes," thought Madame, "they are after Ali Dubh, sure enough. But if
they move so slowly they are not likely to catch the poor fellow at
all."
Now, Madame knew very little of her queer customer; for although he
made a daily visit to the bakery for a loaf and a few cakes, he was of
a gloomy disposition, and never stopped for a chat or a bit of gossip.
It was his custom to silently make his simple purchases and then steal
softly away.
Therefore his excited actions upon this eventful day were really
remarkable, and the good lady was puzzled how to explain them.
She sat late in the shop that evening, burning a dingy oil lamp that
swung in the center of the room. For her rheumatism was more painful
than usual, and she dreaded to go to bed and waken Monsieur Jules with
her moanings. The good man was slumbering peacefully upstairs--she
could hear his lusty snores even where she sat--and it was a shame to
disturb him when he must rise so early.
So she sat in her little room at the end of the counter, trying to knit
by the light of a flickering candle, and rocking back and forth in her
chair with a monotonous motion.
Suddenly the little bell tinkled and a gust of air entered the shop,
sending the mingled odors of baked stuff whirling and scurrying about
the room in a most fragrant manner. Then the door closed, and Madame
laid down her knitting and turned to greet the new-comer.
To her astonishment, it proved to be Ali Dubh. His brown cheeks were
flushed, and his glittering black eyes roamed swiftly over the shop
before they turned full upon the Madame's calm face.
"Good!" he exclaimed, "you are alone."
"It is too late for trade. I am going to bed presently," said Madame.
"I am in great trouble, and you must help me," returned the Arab,
hastily. "Lock your door and come with me into your little room, so
that no one can see us through the street windows."
Madame hesitated. The request was unusual, and she knew nothing of the
Arab's history. But she reflected that if the man attempted robbery or
other mischief she could summon Monsieur Jules with a cry. Also, her
interest had been aroused by Ali Dubh's queer behavior during the day.
While she thought the matter over the Arab himself locked the street
door and hurried into the little room, where Madame composedly joined
him a moment later.
"How can I help you?" she asked, picking up her knitting again.
"Listen!" said the Arab. "I must tell you all. You must know the
truth!" He put his hand in a pocket of his loose robe and drew out a
small flask. It was no bigger than two fingers and was made of pure
gold, upon which strange characters had been richly engraved.
"This," said the Arab, in a low, impressive voice, "is the Great
Elixir!"
"What does that mean?" asked Madame, glancing at the flask doubtfully.
"The Great Elixir? Ah, it is the Essence of Vitality, the Water of
Life--the Greatest Thing in all the World!"
"I don't understand," said Madame.
[Illustration]
"Not understand? Why, a drop of the priceless liquid which this
Golden Flask contains, if placed upon your tongue, would send new
life coursing through your veins. It would give you power, strength,
vitality greater than youth itself! You could do anything--accomplish
wonders--perform miracles--if you but tasted this precious liquid!"
"How odd!" exclaimed Madame, beginning to feel bewildered. And then she
asked: "Where did you get it?"
"Ah! that is the story. That is what you must know," answered Ali
Dubh. "It is centuries old, the Great Elixir. There is no more of it
in all the world. The contents of this flask came into the keeping of
the Ancestor of the Chief of my Tribe--whom we call a Shiek--and has
been handed down from father to son as an heirloom more priceless than
diamonds. The Chief of my Tribe, its last owner, carried the flask
always hidden in his breast. But one day, when he and I were hunting
together, a mad camel trampled the Shiek to his death, and with his
last breath he gave the Great Elixir into my keeping. The Shiek had no
son, and the flask was really mine. But many other Arab Shieks longed
for the treasure and sought to gain it. So I escaped and wandered over
the world. I came here, thinking I was safe from pursuit. But they have
followed me!"
"All the way from Arabia?" asked Madame.
"Yes. To-day I saw them. They know my lodgings. They are secretly
hidden near, and before morning I know they plot to kill me and secure
the Great Elixir. But for a time I have escaped them. I came here
unseen. You must help me. You must take charge of the Great Elixir and
keep it safely for me."
"Nonsense!" cried Madame, becoming aroused at last.
"Do not say that, I beg of you," exclaimed the eager Arab. "You are
honest--I know you are! And they will never suspect you of having the
Golden Flask."
"Perhaps not," said Madame, "and then, again, they may. My business is
to tend the shop, and I am not going to get myself killed by a lot of
desperate foreigners just to oblige _you_, Monsieur Ali Dubh! Take your
Great Elixir to some one else. I don't want it."
For a minute the Arab seemed in despair. Then his face suddenly
brightened.
"You suffer from rheumatism, do you not?" he asked.
"Yes, it's pretty bad to-night," she replied.
"Then I will cure it! I will cure your pains forever if you will keep
my precious Elixir in secret until I come to reclaim it."
Madame hesitated, for just then she had a very bad twinge indeed.
"You think you can cure my pains?" she asked.
"I know it!" declared the Arab. He put his hand in a pocket and drew
out another flask--a mate to the one containing the Great Elixir; only
this was made of solid silver instead of gold.
"This flask," said Ali Dubh, "contains a positive cure for rheumatism.
It will not fail. It never has failed. Take it and use it to make
yourself well. Five drops in a bowl of water are enough. Bathe well the
limbs that ache, and all pain will be gone forever. Accept it, gracious
Madame, and keep for me the other flask in safe hiding until my enemies
have gone away."
Madame was a practical woman, and it seemed an easy thing to do as
the Arab desired. If she could get relief from those dreadful pains
it would be well worth while to undertake a little trouble and
responsibility by caring for Ali Dubh's other and more precious flask.
"Very well," said she. "I agree."
The Arab's face flushed with joy.
"Good," he cried; "I am saved! Guard well my precious flask--the one
of gold. Show it to no one--not even to your good husband. Remember
that diamonds and rubies could not buy the Great Elixir--the marvelous
Essence of Vitality. As for the silver flask, I give it to you freely.
Its contents will cure all your ailments. And now, good night, and may
Allah bless you!"
[Illustration]
Swiftly he stole from the room, unlocked the street door and vanished
into the darkness. And Madame sat looking thoughtfully at the flasks.