Mi-CarÊme

A NAMELESS gentleman from the effete North was enjoying for the first time the privileges of a guest card at the Chess and Checkers. In a somewhat perplexed manner he approached the secretary's desk and obtained a cigar. Then he paused, listening to the sounds of revelry which filled the club, and which came roaring in from the city streets outside.

"Say!" he addressed the secretary. "What's this Mi-CarÊme I've been reading about in the papers, anyhow? I thought everything was tight as a clam down here after Mardi Gras! It's still the Lenten season, isn't it? Mardi Gras doesn't come more than once a year? Then what's all the celebration about?"

The secretary smiled.

"Certainly, sir, it's still Lent. But the French people have what they call Mi-CarÊme, or Mid-Lent, and they certainly give it a big celebration! You see, it's a night halfway through Lent, when they can enjoy themselves to the limit—let off steam, as it were. We're having several dinner parties here in the club to-night, for the occasion."

A slightly built little man, who had much the air of a shy clerk—had it not been for his evening attire—approached the desk. He signed a check for a handful of cigars, which he stowed away.

"Please provide a fresh box of the El Reys later," he said to the secretary. "Most of my party is here, I believe."

"I'll send them up, Mr. Fell," answered the secretary, quickly. "Yes, I think the dining room is all ready for you, sir. By the way, Mr. Gramont was looking for you a moment ago—ah! Here he comes now!"

Jachin Fell turned. Gramont was plunging at him, a yellow telegraph form in his hand, excitement in his eyes.

"Look here, Jachin! This wire just came in from Hammond—you know, I left him in charge of things down at Bayou Terrebonne! Read it, man—read it! They've struck oil-sands at five hundred feet—and sands at five hundred, with these indications, mean a gusher at a thousand! Where's Lucie? Have you brought her?"

"She's upstairs. Well, well!" Jachin Fell glanced at the telegram, and returned it. "So oil is actually found! This is certainly going to be one big night, as Eliza said when she crossed the ice! Come along. Let's find Lucie and tell her about it——"

The two men turned away together.

After them gazed the man from the North, not a little agape over what he had chanced to hear. Before the wondering questions in his eyes the assiduous secretary made haste to enlighten him.

"That's Mr. Gramont, sir. They say that he used to be a real prince, over in France, and that he threw it up because he wanted to be an American. Mr. Fell is having a dinner upstairs—it's Mr. Gramont's engagement, you know—and the Mi-CarÊme ball afterward——"

"Oh, I know, I know," and the man from the North sighed a little. "I was reading all about that in the paper. Fell is one of the crack chess players here, isn't he?"

The secretary smiled.

"Well, he plays a very fair game, sir—a very fair game indeed!"

THE END