dore" was off on his yacht for Monte Carlo, and would probably stay there—"until they kick him out," snapped Eugene savagely. "I hope they do."
And a week later he was much elated because they had done so. At the Eccentric Club he let the yarn loose before an audience dying with laughter.
"My unwilling Chief," he began, "James Gordon, I mean, went to the Casino in Monte Carlo in a high state of intoxication, and raised Hades with all the trimmings imaginable, until thrown out. Then, still yelling for 'the frog-eaters' blood and Monsieur Blanc's in particular, he was carried to the yacht, relieved of his clothes, and treated to a cold bath, his usual medicine under like circumstances. After the bath he put on a kimona and airs and bawled for his secretary. That individual was yanked out of bed by the ears and Bennett dictated to him a proclamation in the style of a South American general starting a revolution.
"'Monsieur Blanc and his associates,' demanded the proclamation, 'must send three of the directors to Mr. Bennett's yacht, making abject apology for the insults heaped upon Mr. Bennett. And unless this apology is forthcoming without evasion or delay, the Commodore will be pleased to blow the Casino into smithereens—he has the guns, powder and shot.'