"n.o.body?" suggested the fat man.

"No," said the Senator, with a glow of patriotic pride on his fine face. "But they found the Frenchman lying dead upon the floor, and the Yankee whispering in his ear the beginning of the second part of the Higgins story."

"And what is the Higgins story?"

"For Heaven's sake," gasped the Doctor, starting up, "don't ask him now--wait till next week!"

As they pa.s.sed over the Mountains of Auvergne a new member was added to the Dodge Club.

It was the fat man.

He was President of a Western bank.

His name was Figgs.

It was a damp, dull, dreary, drenching night, when the lumbering diligence bore the Dodge Club through the streets of Lyons and up to the door of their hotel. Seventeen men and five small boys stood bowing ready to receive them.

The Senator, b.u.t.tons, and d.i.c.k took the small valises which contained their travelling apparel, and dashed through the line of servitors into the house. The Doctor walked after, serenely and majestically.

He had no baggage. Mr. Figgs descended from the roof with considerable difficulty. Slipping from the wheel, he fell into the outstretched arms of three waiters. They put him on his feet.

His luggage was soon ready.

Mr. Figgs had two trunks and various other articles. Of these trunks seven waiters took one, and four the other. Then

Waiter No. 12 took hat-box; Waiter No. 13 took travelling desk; Waiter No. 14 took Scotch plaid; Waiter No. 15 took over-coat; Waiter No. 16 took umbrella; Waiter No. 17 took rubber coat; Boy No. 1 took cane; Boy No. 2 took m.u.f.fler; Boy No. 3 took one of his mittens; Boy No. 4 took the other; Boy No. 5 took cigar-case.

After a long and laborious dinner they rose and smoked.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cicero Against Verres.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sac-r-r-r-re.]

The head waiter informed Mr. Figgs that with his permission a deputation would wait on him. Mr. Figgs was surprised but graciously invited the deputation to walk in. They accordingly walked in. Seventeen men and five boys.

"What did they want?"

"Oh, only a _pourboire_ with which to drink his Excellency's n.o.ble health."

"Really they did his Excellency too much honor. Were they not mistaken in their man?"

"Oh no. They had carried his luggage into the hotel."

Upon this Mr. Figgs gave strong proof of poor moral training, by breaking out into a volley of Western oaths, which shocked one half of the deputation, and made the other half grin.

Still they continued respectful but firm, and reiterated their demand.

Mr. Figgs called for the landlord. That gentleman was in bed.

For his wife. She did not attend to the business. For the head waiter. The spokesman of the deputation, with a polite bow, informed him that the head waiter stood before him and was quite at his service.

The scene was ended by the sudden entrance of b.u.t.tons, who, motioning to Mr. Figgs, proceeded to give each waiter a douceur.

One after another took the proffered coin, and without looking at it, thanked the generous donor with a profusion of bows.

Five minutes after the retreating form of b.u.t.tons had vanished through the door, twenty-persons, consisting of men and boys, stood staring at one another in blank amazement.

Anger followed; then sac-r-r-r-_r-r-r_-R-R-R-_R-Re_!

He had given each one a _centime_.

But the customs of the hotel were not to be changed by the shabby conduct of one mean-minded person. When the Club prepared to retire for the night they were taken to some rooms opening in to each other.

Five waiters led the way; one waiter to each man, and each carried a pair of tall wax-candles. Mr. Figgs's waiter took him to his room, laid down the lights, and departed.

The doors which connected the rooms were all opened, and Mr.

Figgs walked through to see about something. He saw the Doctor, the Senator, b.u.t.tons, and d.i.c.k, each draw the short, well-used stump of a wax-candle from his coat pocket and gravely light it.

Then letting the melted wax fall on the mantle-pieces they stuck their candles there, and in a short time the rooms were brilliantly illuminated.

The waiters were thunderstruck. Such a procedure had never come within the compa.s.s of their experience of the ways of travellers.

"Bonsoir," said b.u.t.tons. "Don't let us detain you."

They went out stupefied.

"What's the idea now?" inquired Mr. Figgs.

"Oh. They charge a franc apiece for each candle, and that is a swindle which we will not submit to."

"And will I have to be humbugged again?"

"Certainly."

"Botheration."

"My dear Sir, the swindle of bougies is the curse of the Continental traveller. None of us are particularly prudent, but we are all on the watch against small swindles, and of them all this is the most frequent and most insidious, the most constantly and ever recurrent. Beware, my dear President, of bougies--that's what we call candles."

Mr. Figgs said nothing, but leaned against the wall for a moment in a meditative mood, as if debating what he should do next.

He happened to be in the Doctor's room. He had already noticed that this gentleman had no perceptible baggage, and didn't understand it.

But now he saw it all.