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.
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