and
myself called The Baby-snatcher)--upon his arrival told great tales of a
Spanish millionaire with whom he had been in prison just previous to his
discovery of La Ferte. "He'll be here too in a couple o' days," added
Bill the Hollander, who had been fourteen years in These United States,
spoke the language to a T, talked about "The America Lakes," and was
otherwise amazingly well acquainted with The Land of The Free. And sure
enough, in less than a week one of the fattest men whom I have ever laid
eyes on, over-dressed, much beringed and otherwise wealthy-looking,
arrived--and was immediately played up to by Judas (who could smell cash
almost as far as _le gouvernement francais_ could smell sedition) and, to
my somewhat surprise, by the utterly respectable Count Bragard. But most
emphatically NOT by Mexique, who spent a half-hour talking to the
_nouveau_ in his own tongue, then drifted placidly over to our beds and
informed us:
"You see dat feller over dere, dat fat feller? I speak Spanish to him. He
no good. Tell me he make fifty thousand franc last year runnin'
whorehouse in" (I think it was) "Brest. Son of bitch!"
"Dat fat feller" lived in a perfectly huge bed which he contrived to have
brought up for him immediately upon his arrival.
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