The RÔle of Good Angel

Rushford waved them good-bye from the door as they sallied forth into the bright sunlight, paused a moment to look after them admiringly, and then turned slowly back into the hotel, smiling softly to himself. He sauntered through the deserted vestibule, and its emptiness struck him as it had never done before.

"Really," he said to himself, "we seem to be the only patrons the house has got. I'll have to look over my bill."

He went on to the desk and demanded his letters of the boy in resplendent uniform who presided there.

"There are none, monsieur," answered that individual, blandly.

"What!" cried Rushford, his smile vanished in an instant. "Are you sure?"

The boy answered with a shrug and a significant gesture toward the letter-rack on the wall. It was visibly, incontestably empty.

Rushford turned away in disgust.

"Those fellows at the office are assuming altogether too much responsibility," he muttered savagely, as he wandered on into the smoking-room. "I told them I didn't want to be bothered with little things, but I certainly expected to hear from them once in a while. If I don't look out, they'll reduce me to the status of a rubber stamp! I'll have to stir them up," and he gloomily extracted from the rack the newly-arrived, two-days-old London paper, brought by the little rickety train which struggled through at uncertain and infrequent intervals from Zunderburg to Weet-sur-Mer, lighted a fresh cigar, and sat down to a perusal of the news.

He proceeded in the most leisurely manner, for he knew that he had plenty of time. Indeed, the paper once finished, the remainder of the day would stretch before him an empty wilderness—a waste as monotonous and bare as the beach he had grown so weary of gazing at. So he gave careful and minute attention to every item. He was in the midst of a long and wholly uninteresting account of a charity bazaar, which the Princess of Wales had opened, and where the Duchess of Blank-Blank had made a tremendous hit and much money for a worthy cause, by selling her kisses for a guinea each, when his attention was attracted by a discreet shuffling of feet on the floor beside his chair. He looked up to see standing there the little fat Alsatian-German-French proprietor of the hotel.

"Why, hello, Pelletan," he said. "Want to speak to me?"

"Eef monsieur please," and Pelletan rubbed his chubby hands together in visible embarrassment.

"All right; sit down."

Monsieur Pelletan coughed deprecatingly and deposited his plump body on the extreme edge of a chair. It was easy to see that he was much depressed—his usually rosy cheeks hung flaccid, his mustachios drooped limply, his little black eyes were suffused and needed frequent wiping—a service performed by a hand that was none too steady.

"Eet iss a matter of pusiness, monsieur," he began, falteringly. "You haf perhaps perceive' t'at our custom hass fallen off."

Rushford glanced about the deserted smoking-room.

"No," he said; "I haven't seen any to fall off. I've been wondering how you managed to pay out."

"Ah, monsieur," cried Pelletan, wringing his hands, "t'at iss eet—I haf been paying out unt paying out until t'e las' franc iss gone. I wass at no time reech, monsieur; at t'is moment I am in ruins!"

And, indeed, he looked the part.

"You mean you'll have to shut up shop?" inquired Rushford.

"Eet preaks my heart to say eet, monsieur; but I fear eet will come to t'at, unless—"

"Unless what?" asked Rushford, eyeing him as he hesitated.

"Unless I shall pe able to interes' monsieur—"

Rushford grunted and stared out of the window at the dunes, puffing his cigar meditatively. He thought of the comfortable bed, of the admirable cuisine—he would hate to give them up. It would mean going to the other hotel, and the mere idea made him shiver. Anything but that!

His host watched him in an agony of apprehension.

"What does it cost a day to run this shebang?" asked the American at last.

Monsieur Pelletan, with feverish haste, produced a paper from his pocket.

"I haf anticipate' monsieur's question; t'is statement will show heem."

Rushford took it and glanced at the total.

"Hmmmm. Four hundred and eighty francs—say a hundred dollars."

"T'at, monsieur," explained Pelletan, "iss based upon our present custom. As pusiness increase', so do t'e expense increase."

"Of course."

"But not in t'e same ratio as t'e receipts. A full house wins so much as six hundret francs t'e tay."

"Yes," assented Rushford, "a full house is a mighty nice thing. But now you seem to be holding only a bob-tail."

"A pop-tail?"

"No matter—go ahead with the story. You say it costs you a hundred dollars a day to keep your doors open. What's the heaviest item?"

"T'e greates' item at present iss t'e chef. He iss a fery goot one—I haf feared to let heem go."

"That was right. You'd better not let him go if you want to keep us here. How many rooms have you?"

Pelletan produced a second slip of paper.

"For t'at, also, I wass prepared, my tear Monsieur Rushford," he said.
"T'e tariff of charges iss also t'ere."

Rushford looked it over with some care. Then he stared out across the sands again, the corners of his mouth twitching. Evidently the proposal appealed to his sense of humour.

"See here, Pelletan," he said, abruptly, turning back, "is there a hoodoo on the house, or what's the matter?"

"A—I peg monsieur's pardon," stammered Pelletan.

"How does it happen that the hotel over there is full and this one's empty?"

"Eet iss t'is way, monsieur," explained the Frenchman, eagerly. "For many year, long pefore t'is new part off t'e house wass puilt, we enjoyed t'e confidence unt patronage of Hiss Highness, t'e Prince of Zeit-Zeit, who spent at least two month in efery season here. While t'e Prince wass here, we were crowded—oh, to t'e smalles' room!—efen at ot'er times, we tid well, for he gafe t'e house a prestige. But last vinter he die, unt hiss heir, hiss son, despite t'e care of heem which we haf taken, t'e anxieties he hass cause' us, yet which we haf cheerfully porne—t'at ingrate hass t'e pad taste to prefer t'e ot'er house! Our ot'er customers haf followed heem—like sheep! Eet iss as t'ough we had lost our star!"

"Your star?"

"In t'e guide-book off Monsieur Karl," Pelletan explained.

"Is that such a tragedy?"

"I haf always t'ought it t'e fery worst t'at could happen," said
Pelletan, "but t'is iss as pad."

It was only by a supreme effort that Rushford managed to choke back the chuckle which rose in his throat.

"Is Zeit-Zeit the little purblind, monkey-faced fellow who is wheeled around in a big red chair every day?"

"T'e fery same, monsieur—a great Highness."

Rushford made a grimace of disgust.

"What's the matter with him?" he asked. "Does he only need a bath, or is it more than skin deep?"

"Eet iss an hereditary trait, monsieur."

"Hereditary taint, you mean! You're better off without him; why, he'd infect the whole house, Pelletan."

Pelletan gazed at him aghast.

"Monsieur is choking!" he said.

"I'm in deadly earnest, but I don't expect you to understand, for you've got an hereditary taint, too, Pelletan, which shows itself principally in your spine."

Pelletan turned pale.

"I assure you, monsieur," he stammered, "I am fery—"

"No matter," broke in Rushford. "All European inn-keepers have it, and it has never been known to result fatally, so don't worry. But why did you think I'd take hold of this thing?"

"I haf heard so much," explained Pelletan, "of t'e enterprise of t'e
Americans, t'at I t'ought perhaps you might—"

"Win back Zeit-Zeit? Not on your life! If he comes, I go! But I tell you what I'll do, Pelletan. I'll make you a proposition."

"Proceed, monsieur," and the other's face began to beam anticipatively.

"For one month I'll pay all the expenses of this hostelry, rent included, and allow you one hundred francs a day for your services. I take all the receipts. At the end of that time, I withdraw and leave you to your own devices. What do you say?"

Monsieur Pelletan reflected. At least, it was postponing the inevitable for a month, and in a month what may not happen? Besides, at the end of the month, he would be richer by three thousand francs.

"I accept, monsieur," he said, with fervour. "I am t'ankful a t'ousand time!"

"All right; I take possession at once. We can have a notary draw up a formal agreement. Now let's run over this schedule of prices," and he turned to Pelletan's carefully prepared statement.

"Fery well, monsieur."

"I see you have two apartments de luxe at one hundred francs a day.
Hereafter they will be two hundred francs."

Pelletan gasped.

"From t'at, off course, t'ere will be a tiscount?" he stammered.

"Not a cent; not the tenth of a cent. Two hundred francs net."

"But, monsieur, efen at t'e old price, we haf always gif a tiscount! It iss only Americans who pay t'e full price. Ot'er people expec'—"

Rushford waved his hand.

"I don't care what they expect. Besides, there's going to be one hotel in Europe where Americans get a square deal. If your compatriots don't want to patronise my house, they can go to that low-down lunatic asylum across the street. By the way, what's its name?"

"T'e Grand HÔtel Splendide," answered Pelletan, glowing with delight at his companion's power of invective.

"H—m," said the latter; "the worse a hotel is, the bigger name it seems to have. But about the discount. Let me repeat for you, Pelletan, a business axiom. To give a discount is to admit that your goods are not worth the price you ask for them, and that you're willing to cheat anybody who doesn't know enough to beat you down. All the business of Europe seems to be run in just that way, but ours won't be. Our goods are worth the price!"

"But," began Pelletan, humbly, "efen at Ostend—"

"This is not Ostend. This is Weet-sur-Mer—a place more home-like, more comfortable, preferable in every way, and with greater natural advantages than Ostend ever had or ever will have. Only a fool would go to Ostend when he could come to Weet-sur-Mer and stop at the Grand HÔtel Royal."

Pelletan rubbed his hands in delight.

"You really t'ink so, monsieur?" he murmured.

"No matter what I think. Besides, you can go back to your old schedule, if you want to, at the end of the month. But I'm fixing this new schedule to suit myself, and I don't want to be interrupted. These ordinary apartments will be thirty to forty francs, according to size. Single rooms will be ten francs. Breakfast will be four francs, dinner ten francs—in a word, we double our income without increasing our expenses. That's the secret of all high finance, my friend."

"But, monsieur," stammered Pelletan, more and more astounded, "eef t'ere iss no one to pay, what does it matter?"

"There will be some one to pay—leave that to me. You don't understand American enterprise, Pelletan. I'm going to astonish you. Now mind one thing—if Zeit-Zeit comes over here and wants an apartment, you're to shut him out—I won't have him in the house—not at any price!"

Pelletan grew pale at the thought.

"Refuse t'e Prince of Zeit-Zeit!" he stammered.

"Yes—if you let him in, I'll kick him out. And another thing—the service has got to be first-class—the best in Europe—nothing gaudy, you understand, but a quiet elegance that will make us talked about. Do you think you can accomplish it?"

"I vill do my pest, monsieur," promised Pelletan.

"The place, of course, I'll have to take as I find it," went on Rushford, with a glance around, "though it's littered up with gewgaws and dinkey furniture which ought to be made into a bonfire. If I had a little more time, I'd re-decorate the whole house. Those imitation marble pillars over there are an insult to the intelligence."

"T'ey haf peen t'ought fery beautiful, monsieur," murmured Pelletan, humbly.

"Yes—I've noticed that Europeans have a weakness for imitations. It's a defect of character, I suppose. But there's one thing you can do—and right away. Send that boy at the desk up to his room and tell him to rip all that gold braid off his coat. To look at him, you'd think he was a major-general."

Pelletan stared at his partner to see if he was in earnest.

"Oh, I know it will be a deprivation," said the American, a glint of humour in his eyes. "You can raise his wages a franc a day to make up for it."

"Fery well, monsieur," and Pelletan crossed over to the desk and gave the boy his commands. The latter dragged away up the stair with a countenance in which grief and joy struggled for the mastery. "Anyt'ing else, monsieur?" asked the Frenchman, coming back.

"No, I don't think of anything just at this moment. But you do your part and I'll do mine. Now suppose you go out and get the notary, while I work my brain a bit."

Pelletan staggered rather than walked to the door, his head in his hands, fairly overwhelmed. A moment later, Rushford saw him hurrying down the street. He got out a third cigar and settled back in his chair with a chuckle of satisfaction.

"Maybe I'll get some fun out of this thing, after all," he said. "It'll offer a little diversion, anyway. Now, how shall we begin to advertise?"

"M. le PropriÉtaire, is he here?" inquired a voice, and Rushford looked around to see a man in resplendent uniform standing at the door.

"That's me, I reckon," he said.

"This is my first day," explained the man; "I will know monsieur hereafter. I have a telegram," and he produced it. "Monsieur will make acknowledgment here," he added, and held out a narrow white slip of paper.

Rushford signed his name mechanically, dropped a franc into the itching palm, and waited till the messenger went out. Then he looked at the address on the envelope. It was:

Proprietor Grand HÔtel Royal, Weet-sur-Mer.

"Well," he said, "it's mine—I guess there's no question of that—I'm the proprietor—pro tem," and he tore the envelope open. A low whistle escaped him as he read the message. Then he slapped his leg and laughed. "It's a freak of the market," he cried. "A freak of the market! And it's just my luck to be in on the ground floor!"

He folded the telegram and placed it carefully in his pocket. Then he fell again into a meditation punctuated by frequent chuckles. But at the end of a very few minutes, Monsieur Pelletan was back again, with a thin little notary in tow, and the necessary papers were soon drawn up.

"You have only to sign, monsieur," said the notary, after he had finished reading them aloud, and he handed his formidable pen to Rushford.

Monsieur Pelletan rubbed his hands together nervously as the American hesitated and looked at him.

"It's not too late to draw out," remarked Rushford. "If you're not satisfied—"

"I haf no tesire to traw out, monsieur," protested Pelletan, quickly. "I am entirely satisfied!"

"I have one other condition to make," added the American.

"What iss eet, monsieur?" questioned Pelletan, looking at him apprehensively.

"You understand I'm to be a silent partner in this thing."

"A—?"

"A silent partner—in other words, nobody's to know I'm backing you unless I choose to tell them—absolutely no one. Do you agree?"

"Oh, gladly, monsieur!" cried Pelletan, with a deep breath of relief.
After all, is not glory the next best thing to riches?

"And your friend?"

The notary nodded a solemn promise of secrecy.

"All right," and Rushford signed. Pelletan hastily affixed his signature, and the thing was done. "Now, my friend," continued the American, "which is the swellest suite of rooms you've got in the house?"

"De luxe A," responded Pelletan. "Monsieur wishes—"

"I wish you to get it ready at once—"

"Monsieur will occupy it himself, no toubt?"

"No, I won't; I'll stay right where I am. But between seven and eight o'clock to-morrow morning, there will arrive an English ship of war—"

"A sheep-of-t'e-war!" echoed Pelletan, growing pale.

"Certainly, a ship of war, and from it there will disembark a man named
Vernon and his suite of four or five people. You will give him apartment
A."

Pelletan caught his breath.

"Monsieur Vernon iss, I suppose, a friend?" he stammered.

"No," said Rushford, "I've never seen him. But we'll have to treat him well. He's the head of the British foreign office, Pelletan; and one of the high nobility. Beside him, Zeit-Zeit will look like thirty cents!"