Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 221, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 September 1918 — Bonhomme’s Compliments [ARTICLE]

Bonhomme’s Compliments

By ALEC BRUCK

(Copyright. 1918. by the McClure Newape per Syndicated It was annoying in business hours, very annoying, yes. M’siearßonhomme could stand it no logger. True, he did not do much business after five o’clock. But what had that, to do with it? These young men did not mean business, no! Their time was their own. Bah, even Marie, his own beautiful, peachbloom Marie, had had enough. And enough Is as good as a feast; her manner said so. Her tongue? More things than tongues can speak! M’sleu rose Suddenly from his Inksplattered desk and paced slowly up and down the dimly lighted aisle of his old furniture store. “Yes, It will end, now—-tonight!” he muttered. “I cannot stand it longer. These young men, young fools, I will pack them home, where they belong. My daughter is my daughter, not a plaything! Her time, my time, is valuable.” Before a dust-coated mirror in a tall mahogany wardrobe he paused a moment, shaking his fist at the full-fea-tured reflection'with its curling gray hair and subdued floridity of countenance. .. “And you, m’sieur, must pack them home; you have been too long about It!” • His big brown eyes blazed ominously. ~ ' “Father!” A door opened in the clumsy tapestry frame screening the little living rooms behind, and a girl, tall and darkly handsome, a little past twenty, perhaps, with a humorous and clever expression; beamed on him out of liquid wells of blue. “Father,” she repeated, “Mr. Moorson is coming. He—he—l think he Is coming here again.” “Thank you, Marie, thank, you,” stammered M’sieur, his broad, cleanshaven face pinking distinctly. “Er — and if—if lam not seen, I suppose that-1 will not be in the way, my dear?”

"Oh, no, father, no!” she laughed, "but make yourself heard up In the gallery. Walk about a little, tumble something, yes. Then I can -say, ‘Hush, Mr. Moorson; someone 18 taking stock up there.’ Ha ha I” She laughed a nervous'Uttle laugh. " , “My dear,” whispered her father impressively, “of course you know that I do not—-er —desire to listen. The "sweet things these young men say are not for ears like mine. Ah, I doubt not that I have heard them once or twice already, yes.” This time a low, musical laugh rippled through the long oblong hall, and echoed from the galleries above. “Mon ami," she murmured archly, “the sweet things these young men say, now, are perhaps just a little different from the things young men said —oh, some twenty years ago, when the little mother heard you speak them, hey? . And so, perhaps you might desire —■” “My dear,” Bonhomme interrupted with a smile. “I hear footsteps! Never fear, I will walk about in the gallery, or I will cough maybe. But I am busy this afternoon, and I cannot leave the store for the convenience of these young—visitors, ahem ! And it is possible that I might hear some leetle snatch—eh? Take care, take care, ma’amselle!”

Ting, ting. ‘Ah, your visitor.” Ma’amselle hurried forward with a laugh. Click! The big swing doors opened wide and a well-set-up, muscular young man met her with a smile that only half explained the meaning of his presence. “Your father is out, I suppose?” he whispered, glancing up the aisle. M’sleur, fat and breathless, had taken advantage of the greetings to tiptoe up the spiral stairway. “Huh, your father is out?" he wheezed wrathfully. “Listen to faint heart and—” But he did not hear the fair lady’s reply. Bah I At gallery No. 1 he stopped for a moment and viewed with regret the many dust-covered tables near the door. If madame were only here! Hush! He could hear, but could not see his daughter and Mr. Moorson now. They had seated themselves on a rose-colored divan on the aisle, behind a row of wardrobes. The young man chose the spot with much M’sleur heard him: “Huh, I will gw higher up, young man, higher up, where I can get a bird’s-eye view,” he panted. Whew! Asthma and climbing' do not agree, and gallery No. 2 was so high up. It contained the bedding,- all the soft goods and M’sleur collapsed on a pile of cushions. Oh, la, la! he was too high up to hear even a snatch of conversation, but he could see.. And the young man was bending so close to Ma’amselle. His speech, his actions, betrayed the feverish anxiety Of his mind, and Ma’amselle had turned her crimson face away.. Suddenly Mr. Moorson seized her hand. She drew it away? Mon Dleu! The psychological moment surely? M’sleur looked about for something to drop, something that would mfte a noise, but there was nothing big, nothing hard. He thought of a cough; but In his present state of breathlessness that also was imjposaible. A real spasm would take the » ' > *

place of the feigned, and M’sieur was a friend of discretion. . Hark! Loud footsteps sounded on the tiling outside. Mr. Moorson jumped to his feet Ma’amselle also, and evidently at the young man’s urgent solicitation, she threw open the mirrored door of the most convenient wardrobe and pushed him in. “Ha 1* M’sieur noted that wardrobe well—one, two, three, four, five—five! in the mahogany row. “Ah ha! I will go down again to gallery number ong,” ha muttered, a vague disappointment .discernible in his tones. “I did not hear one leetle word.” . - The swing doors bumped, and M’sieur popped his head over the polished rail of gallery number one just as another young man, a tall, bottleshouldered blonde with a vibrant voice full of round, benignant notes, clasped ma’amselle’s small white hand. -

“Marie,” he cried—M’sieur could hear every word —“I am so glad to see you; And you are alone? Ah, that is fortunate, for I have a secret to tell you tonight. Marie, I—l love you, dear. No, no; do not forbid 'me. I must tell you—” “Sh—oh, Mr. Colson,” she stammered, glancing swiftly upward, *T— I —please do not tell me any—any secrets tonight, please—l—” “Marie, my Marie," he insisted, laying a large, bony hand on her small, trembling one, “one kiss, dear, just one?’ he pleaded, his strong arm stealing around her slender waist. , “No, no, Mr. Corson, no!” Bang! The full-blown decorated globe of an antiquated lamp splintered on the gallery floor and glittered In frosty ppwder on a crimson mat. “Who —who —was that?” demanded Mr. Corson, catching his breath and quickly withdrawing his arm. “What? you father bu-breaking stock—l—l thought that he was out!” “Hush-hush!” Again footsteps sounded on the tiling outside and M’sieur began to descend the spiral stairway behind. Mr. Corson jumped to his feet: “Hide me, Marie, hide me! Someone’s coming both ways. I—l would rather not be seen.”

“Quick, then, in here!” she breathed, throwing open the door of a fine wardrobe just opposite the fifth mahogany piece. Click! “Ha!" M’sleur saw Mr. Corson’s coattails disappear. “One, two, three, four," he counted carefully, and as he passed up the aisle to meet the portly newcomer shaking hands with Ma’amselle at the door, he turned two keys, in the mahogany and mission rows, and dropped them in his pocket. "Ha, Mister Barron, good afternoon, good afternoon! You are well, yes? And Mrs. Barron? Ah, that is good! Something—er—this afteriloon, perhaps?” Mr. Barron was M’sieur’s best customer. Purchasing agent for a much larger furniture store, when his firm ran out of any particular piece desired at once, Bonhomme, if he could supply, always got the order.

“Ah, good afternoon, M’sleur,' good afternoon!” responded Mr. Barron loudly. “Yes, siy, I want two wardrobes, in a hurry. Send thbm out in our wagon; it’s at your door now. A mahogany one sor —take a note of them! Ready?” He glanced at the notebook in his hand —“Mr. James Moorson, 91 Cookson avenue. You know the gentleman’s son, I think I’ve seen him here.” “Ha, ha!” M’sleur chuckled. Mr. Barron looked curiously ever his spectacles. “Eh? and one for Mr. Arthur Corson, 15 Marion terrace. Perhaps you know young Corson, also? Ha, ha£’ “Ha, ha r echoed M’sleur. “And I want both in model A, IMW hommie, remember. Ah, you haw a' row of each, I see. Well, don’t faltte. Get’em home at once. My men your service. Good day, Pm off. Busy* as bees down our way.” “GoodWiay, sir, good day,” smilingly M’sleur bowed his patron out, and signalled the men to come in. They were big strong fellows both of them. But when the wardrobes were goaded and roped, they came back to the store. “Yes?” queried Bonhomme with arching brows. ~~~ “A drink of water, if you please, sir?” ' . • ' “Certainly,” mumbled M’sieur, turning Ills face away. “Oh, Marie, som’ water! som’ water, up front here! Ah, and the keys, I forgot the keys,” he muttered when the men followed ma’amselle away, “and these men can deliver them with the goodd; yes.” He hurried, to his desk and drew out two business cards. “With Bonhomme’s compliments,” he wrote on each, and placed them with the little gilded keys in their respective envelopes. One of the men tueked the packets carefully away in hia. pockets. "Yes, sir,” he promised, “Til see that the right parties' gets ’em. You bet I will, sir.” y “Oh, father,” ' pouted ma’amselle when the door closed, “these young men, oh, these yotlng men, they are such troubles. Oh, I do not want them, and they are here, yet What shall I do?” “Ha, ha, ha! non, non, my dear,” laughed M’sleur, “they are not here! You make one beeg mistake. These young men will not trouble you again. They have gone home to their fathers —with the compliments of Bonhomme, yes! Ha, hat”