Under the Big Dipper

to engage his orchestra for some small affair. The man could not write, and he asked me to put his address into my memorandum book. He owned but a single name. His pockmarked face, his little beetle eyes and low forehead gave but scant promise of intelligence. I asked him some questions about his life and ambitions—the man grew quite loquacious. He liked France and the French. He made a nice living, he had saved quite some money, had a good and thrifty wife, a cozy apartment and many comforts. The one thing which marred his happiness was the sad fact that his marriage had proved childless. The ‘bon Dieu’ had not blessed them. But for that he would not change with the manager of the hotel or any other man in Paris! I was deeply impressed because my own king had said the same words to me. But still, my dear Mr. Morton, blood will tell. And a nobleman is the product of many generations of thought, virtue and manliness.”

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