"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.
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