My companion, with the artist’s instinct for the “curtain,” paused. He looked round the brightly-lit restaurant. From every side arose the clatter of knife and fork, and the clear, sharp note of those who drank soup. In a distant corner a small waiter with a large voice was calling the cook names through the speaking- tube. It was a cheerful scene, but it brought no cheer to my companion. He sighed heavily and resumed.
I ‘urry over that painful scene. There is blooming row. My uncle is ‘to-tempered man. The cat is ‘eavy cat. I ‘ave thrown ‘im very hard, for my nerves and my toothache and my ‘atred ‘ave given me the giant’s strength. Alone is this enough to enrage my ‘ot-tempered uncle. I am there in his hotel, you will understand, as cashier, not as cat-thrower. And now, besides all this, I have insulted valuable patron. She ‘ave left the hotel that day.
There are no doubts in my mind as to the outcome. With certainty I await my congé. And after painful scene I get it. I am to go. At once. He ‘ave assured the angry American woman that I go at once.
He has called me into his private office. “Jean,” he has said to me, at the end of other things, “you are a fool, dolt, no-good imbecile. I give you good place in my hotel, and you spend your time flinging cats. I will ‘ave no more of you. But even now I cannot forget that you are my dear brother’s child. I will now give you one thousand francs and never see you again.”
I have thanked him, for to me it is wealth. Not before have I ever had one thousand francs of my own. I go out of the hotel. I go to a café and order a bock. I smoke a cigarette. It is necessary that I think out plans. Shall I with my one thousand francs rent a studio in the Quarter and commence my life as artist? No. I have still the genius, the ent’usiasm, but I have not the training. To train myself to paint pictures I must study long, and even one thousand francs will not last for ever. Then what shall I do? I do not know. I order one other bock, and smoke more cigarettes, but still I do not know.
And then I say to myself, “I will go back to my uncle, and plead with him. I will seize favourable opportunity. I will approach him after dinner when he is in good temper. But for that I must be close at hand. I must be-what’s your expression?-‘Johnny-on-the-spot.’ ”
My mind is made up. I have my plan.
I have gone back to my uncle’s hotel, and I have engaged not too expensive bedroom. My uncle does not know. He still is in his private office. I secure my room.
I dine cheaply that night, but I go to theatre and also to supper after the theatre, for have I not my thousand francs? It is late when I reach my bedroom.
I go to bed. I go to sleep.
But I do not sleep long. I am awakened by a voice.
It is a voice that says, “Move and I shoot! Move and I shoot!” I lie still. I do not move. I am courageous, but I am unarmed.
And the voice says again, “Move and I shoot!” Is it robbers? Is it some marauder who has made his way to my room to plunder me?
I do not know. Per’aps I think yes.
“Who are you?” I have asked.
There is no answer.
I take my courage in my ‘ands. I leap from my bed. I dash for the door. No pistol has been fire. I have reached the passage, and have shouted for assistance.
Hotel officials run up. Doors open. “What is it?” voices cry.
“There is in my room an armed robber,” I assure them.
And then I have found-no, I am mistaken. My door, you will understand, is open. And as I have said these words, a large green parrot comes ‘opping out. My assassin is nothing but a green parrot.