Carême, or Mid-Lent, and they certainly give it a big celebration! You see, it's a night halfway through Lent, when they can enjoy themselves to the limit—let off steam, as it were. We're having several dinner parties here in the club to-night, for the occasion."
A slightly built little man, who had much the air of a shy clerk—had it not been for his evening attire—approached the desk. He signed a check for a handful of cigars, which he stowed away.
"Please provide a fresh box of the El Reys later," he said to the secretary. "Most of my party is here, I believe."
"I'll send them up, Mr. Fell," answered the secretary, quickly. "Yes, I think the dining room is all ready for you, sir. By the way, Mr. Gramont was looking for you a moment ago—ah! Here he comes now!"
Jachin Fell turned. Gramont was plunging at him, a yellow telegraph form in his hand, excitement in his eyes.
"Look here, Jachin! This wire just came in from Hammond—you know, I left him in charge of things down at Bayou Terrebonne!
