The Puppet Crown [119]
quick and generous; it never stops to weigh causes or to reason why. And strange, its judgment is almost always unerring. I am going to share my dinner with you to-night. I'll try to brighten you up a bit."
"Thanks."
"Then after dinner we'll play poker until they come to take you to Brunnstadt."
"What sort of a city is it?"
"You will not see much of it; so I will not take the trouble to tell you that it is slightly inferior to Bleiberg."
Sure enough, when the dark of evening fell, two servants entered with trays and baskets, and proceeded to lay the table. They put new candles in the bayonets.
"Ha!" said the Colonel; "you have forgotten the wine, rascals!"
"Bring a dozen bottles," Maurice suggested, having an idea in mind.
"Eh?"
"Remember, Colonel, I've been a soldier and a journalist in a country where they only wash with water. In the summer we have whisky iced, in the winter we have it hot; an antidote for both heat and cold. Ah, Colonel, if you only might sniff a mint julep!"
"A dozen bottles, then," said the Colonel to the servants, who retired to execute the order.
"How old will it be?" asked Maurice.
"Twice your age, my son. But do not make any miscalculation about my capacity for tokayer."
"Any miscalculation?" Maurice echoed.
"Yes; if you plan to get me drunk. There are no troopers about, and it would be easy enough for you to slip out if I should lose my head."
Maurice's laugh had a false ring to it. The Colonel had made a very shrewd guess.
"Well!" said the Colonel, with a gesture toward the table.
They sat down, and both made an excellent dinner. Maurice demolished a roasted pheasant, stuffed with chestnuts, while the Colonel disintegrated a duck. The wine came, and the servants ranged six bottles on the side of each plate. It was done so gravely that Maurice laughed heartily. The wine was the oldest in Madame's cellar, and Maurice wondered at the Colonel's temerity in selecting it. The bottles were of thick glass, fat- bottomed, and ungainly, and Maurice figured that there was more than a pint in each. It possessed a delicious bouquet. The Colonel emptied three bottles, with no more effect than if the wine had been water. Maurice did not appreciate this feat until he had himself emptied a bottle. It was then he saw that the boot was likely to be on the other foot.
He looked at the Colonel enviously; the old soldier was a gulf. He had miscalculated, indeed. But he was fertile in plans, and a more reasonable one occurred to him. He drank another bottle and began to talk verbosely. Later he grew confidential. He told the Colonel a great many things which-- had never happened, things impossible and improbable. The Colonel listened soberly, and nodded now and again. Dinner past, they pushed the remains aside and began to play poker, a game at which the Colonel proved to be no novice, much to Maurice's wonder.
"Why, you know the game as thoroughly as an Arizona corporal."
"I generally spend a month of the winter in Vienna. One of your compatriots taught me the interesting game." The Colonel shuffled the cards. "It is the great American game, so I am told."
"O, they play checkers in the New England states," said Maurice, hiccoughing slightly. "But out west and in all the great cities poker has the way."
"What have you got?" asked the Colonel, answering a call.
"Jacks full."
"Takes the pot;" and this Americanism came so naturally that Maurice roared.
"Poker is a great preliminary study to diplomacy," said the Colonel, as he scrutinized his hand. "You raise it?"
"Yes. One card. Diplomacy? So it is. I played a game with the Chinese ambassador in Washington one night. I was teaching him how to play. I lost all the ready money I had with me. Next day I found out that he was the shrewdest player in the diplomatic circles. Let's make it a jackpot."
"All the same to me."
And the game went on. Presently Maurice threw aside his coat. He was feeling the warmth of the wine, but he opened another bottle.
"Thanks."
"Then after dinner we'll play poker until they come to take you to Brunnstadt."
"What sort of a city is it?"
"You will not see much of it; so I will not take the trouble to tell you that it is slightly inferior to Bleiberg."
Sure enough, when the dark of evening fell, two servants entered with trays and baskets, and proceeded to lay the table. They put new candles in the bayonets.
"Ha!" said the Colonel; "you have forgotten the wine, rascals!"
"Bring a dozen bottles," Maurice suggested, having an idea in mind.
"Eh?"
"Remember, Colonel, I've been a soldier and a journalist in a country where they only wash with water. In the summer we have whisky iced, in the winter we have it hot; an antidote for both heat and cold. Ah, Colonel, if you only might sniff a mint julep!"
"A dozen bottles, then," said the Colonel to the servants, who retired to execute the order.
"How old will it be?" asked Maurice.
"Twice your age, my son. But do not make any miscalculation about my capacity for tokayer."
"Any miscalculation?" Maurice echoed.
"Yes; if you plan to get me drunk. There are no troopers about, and it would be easy enough for you to slip out if I should lose my head."
Maurice's laugh had a false ring to it. The Colonel had made a very shrewd guess.
"Well!" said the Colonel, with a gesture toward the table.
They sat down, and both made an excellent dinner. Maurice demolished a roasted pheasant, stuffed with chestnuts, while the Colonel disintegrated a duck. The wine came, and the servants ranged six bottles on the side of each plate. It was done so gravely that Maurice laughed heartily. The wine was the oldest in Madame's cellar, and Maurice wondered at the Colonel's temerity in selecting it. The bottles were of thick glass, fat- bottomed, and ungainly, and Maurice figured that there was more than a pint in each. It possessed a delicious bouquet. The Colonel emptied three bottles, with no more effect than if the wine had been water. Maurice did not appreciate this feat until he had himself emptied a bottle. It was then he saw that the boot was likely to be on the other foot.
He looked at the Colonel enviously; the old soldier was a gulf. He had miscalculated, indeed. But he was fertile in plans, and a more reasonable one occurred to him. He drank another bottle and began to talk verbosely. Later he grew confidential. He told the Colonel a great many things which-- had never happened, things impossible and improbable. The Colonel listened soberly, and nodded now and again. Dinner past, they pushed the remains aside and began to play poker, a game at which the Colonel proved to be no novice, much to Maurice's wonder.
"Why, you know the game as thoroughly as an Arizona corporal."
"I generally spend a month of the winter in Vienna. One of your compatriots taught me the interesting game." The Colonel shuffled the cards. "It is the great American game, so I am told."
"O, they play checkers in the New England states," said Maurice, hiccoughing slightly. "But out west and in all the great cities poker has the way."
"What have you got?" asked the Colonel, answering a call.
"Jacks full."
"Takes the pot;" and this Americanism came so naturally that Maurice roared.
"Poker is a great preliminary study to diplomacy," said the Colonel, as he scrutinized his hand. "You raise it?"
"Yes. One card. Diplomacy? So it is. I played a game with the Chinese ambassador in Washington one night. I was teaching him how to play. I lost all the ready money I had with me. Next day I found out that he was the shrewdest player in the diplomatic circles. Let's make it a jackpot."
"All the same to me."
And the game went on. Presently Maurice threw aside his coat. He was feeling the warmth of the wine, but he opened another bottle.