St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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LOVEKS' CONQUEST 73 haps you like 'O'Connor' better! What's un'cle's name, Archille? M. Gustave Le I-Iallier, he answered quietly. i Aha, thought I, so uncle is also traveling incognito. The letter gave the name of Jean Louis Shampol! Just then the door opened, and a man, dressed in an eve- ning suit, stepped into the room. He was a small, wiry man, his eyes shifted unceasingly, a retreating chin left the irn- pression of irresolution, which, with the cunning that lurked in his beady eyes, gave him a very unprepossessing appear- ance. The villain had entered the scene. I instinctively dis- liked the fellow, yet I saw he was a foeman worthy of my steel. f What does this mean, boy P he growled. I thought I forbade you to receive anyone here. But, uncle, this is Mr. O'Connor, gasped the lad, whose delicate spirit recoiled at the rough, threatening aspect of the angered man. I-Ie is from the newspapers, and wished to know all about my music. The man eyed me cunningly, and then quite taken aback by my innocent appearance, apologized for his hasty conduct. f'Glad to meet you, indeed, very glad, Mr. O'Connor. Pardon my intrusion, but I have to take care of the boy, as he is continually beset by your good people, who are load- ing him with presents, and I am afraid utterly spoiling him. How smoothly the words rolled out. In tones as soft and in- sinuating I answered him: Yes, how often we dramatic writers see that. These child-wonders come to this city, and immediately they are placed high on a pedestal surrounded by the costliest votive offerings. -No wonder their heads are turned. I had talked myself agreeably into his good graces. By the way, M. Le Hallier, is there anything special you would like featured in this interview with your nephew ? No, I think not, he answered musing, but you might express our thanks to your fellow-citizens for the many acts of kindness they have continually lavished upon us. You

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72 IGNATIAN he had drunk deep of the cup of sorrow. His father plung- ing headlong at an early age into a course of dissipation, the cold hand of death striking him down in the midst of his carousals. His mother-a young wife idying of a broken heart, and her only hope snatched ruthlessly from her tender grasp. No wonder the sad tones of his violin had wrung tears from the hardest heart! Ralph C. O'Connor, my little friend spelled out the name. I am so happy to see you. You write for the news- papers ? Er-yes! I blurted out. It was hard to tell that fibg but I was a detective, and braced up: And if you don't mind we are going to have a chat all about yourself. About myself, Mr. O'Connor, he replied in the quaintest of accents. Ah! but there is so little, yet some say there is so much. So little, I protested, why, your name is famous. You have all the art-loving people of two continents bowing be- fore you, my boy. My name, yes, and his sensitive lips seemed to quiver, and his face to twitch with exquisite pain. My name is nothing, Mr. O'Connor. The tears welled up in the big, blue eyes. What? The name of Achille St. Maurice-Petrosky nothing? It was cruel of me to press this point so keenly, but I saw that I had luckily hit upon the likeliest method of winning the confidence of the child. Listen, Monsieur, I like you, and may I trust you? Oh, but what would uncle say? Monsieur, ah !-if he knew you were here, he would be so mad. Come, Achille, let uncle take care of himself. Don't you fear him. I'll be your big brother, and spank him sound- ly if necessary. At that he smiled, and the cloud seemed to pass from his pleasant countenance. I had visions of uncle, a pompous, little, fat Frenchman, twirling his mustache, and glaring fiercely. So you're not in love with 'St. Maurice-Petroskyg' per-

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74 IGNATIAN might also mention that our next engagement will be at Los Angeles, the week following Christmas. The call-boy knocked on the door, as the curtain rose for the third act, and the three of us walked towards the stage door. As I was leaving them, M. Le Hallier asked me to call at his hotel, which I heartily promised to do. That night I sent off a cablegram to Paris, detailing briefly the success of the quest, and urging them to cable to Achille St. Maurice-Petrovsky the news of his mother's illness. The next afternoon I drove up in my runabout to the hotel, where by good fortune I found Achille alone. The cur- tains of the room were drawng and as the little fellow arose to greet me, his eyes filled with tears, which he strove in vain to dash away. A yellow paper lay crumpled on the table beside him, and without a word he handed it to me. I smoothed it out, and read the cablegram: M, Achille St. Maurice-Petrovsky, - Palace Hotel, San Francisco, Calif. Your mother, Madame Mahe, lies seriously ill in Paris. Come at once. CSignedj H. E. Colin de Cocheval, M. D. My heart, always softened by suffering, went out to the boy. Yes, a detective is supposed to be entirely free from sentiment, but I longed at that moment to mother the child in the hour of his bitterest trial, and I yielded to the tugging at my heartstrings, and poured into his sensitive soul all the con- solation, all the tenderest expressions of sincere sympathy with which my good angel inspired me. Once more the vivid picture of my sweet mother, prostrate on the bed of death, came up before me, and I spoke words of comfort, and as mother would have wished me to do, bade him pray God to spare his dear mother until once more she would clasp her darling son to her sorrowing heart. When I saw him somewhat comforted, I branched off onto some antique anecdotes, and soon had him smiling in the midst of his tears. I then proposed an auto ride, to which he consented after much reluctance.