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Merrick, Leonard, 1864-1939

"A Chair on the Boulevard"

In one moment I told
myself that it would be better to withhold it till the morning; in the
next I felt that you had a right to hear it without delay. Hour after
hour, in the snow, I turned the matter over in my mind, and--"
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Pitou, "is this an interminable serial at so much
a column? Come to the point!"
Lajeunie beat his breast. "I am distracted," he faltered, "I am no
longer master of myself. Listen! It occurred to me this evening that I
might do worse than pay a visit to La Coupole and inquire if a date was
fixed yet for the rehearsals to begin. Well, I went! For a long time I
could obtain no interview, I could obtain no appointment--the messenger
came back with evasive answers. I am naturally quick at smelling a rat
--I have the detective's instinct--and I felt that there was something
wrong. My heart began to fail me."
"For mercy's sake," groaned his unhappy collaborator, "explode the bomb
and bury my fragments! Enough of these literary introductions. Did you
see the manager, or didn't you?"
"I did see the miscreant, the bandit-king, I saw him in the street. For
I was not to be put off--I waited till he came out. Well, my friend, to
compress the tragedy into one act, our hope is shattered--
_Patatras_ is again refused!"
"Oh, heavens!" moaned Pitou, and fell back upon the mattress as white
as death.
"What explanation did he make?" cried Tricotrin; "what is the reason?"
"The reason is that Blondette is an imbecile--she finds the part
'unworthy of her talents.


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