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Newspaper Page Text
; By Randolph Ditton.
I had .served Monsieur le Marquis
faithfully for fifteen -years. That is
not so short a time, as things go now
adays, for it seems that one changes
his butler as often as his overcoat.
But Mpnsieur would never let any of
his servantsMepart Besides, my fath
er had'served his father a lifetime.
We had had great trouble .during
the five 'years preceding Monsieur's
"Dog of a Thief!
death, for his daughter becan at
tached to a worthyyoung man whom
Monsieur resolutely refused to allow
within the chateau. He' was a son of
the Comte de Minquette, but he was
a Dreyfusard! Enough! 'Prance has
been rent in twain by the affair, and
in our home it was not otherwise.
Mademoiselle Henriette wept bitterly
but at last she acquiesced to the
inevitable, and Monsieur Paul went
o America "b.eart-broSen,
But after my master died I conceiv
ed an, idea. I had long wished to visit
America, for I had heard rumors from
returning visitors tnat a chef at the
Hotel Pianfcstead, New York, had in
vented a salad which was identical
with the famous salad of my master:
Enough! I must needs go, find the
thief, "and ram his salad down his
throat. We Gascons are hot-blooded,
and never shall it be said that Jean
Birrabou cannot protect bis master's
"Mademoiselle Henriette," I said
respectfully, the night before I sailed,
"can. I be of -service to you in savage
She looked up and I knew of what
she was thinking.
"My dear friend," she answered, "I
understand. But I cannot stoop to
ask Monsieur Paul to return to me.
It must be of his own accord."
"At least he should know that
Monsieur le Marquis is dead," I an
swered. "Themheaven bless and guard you
in your dangerous venture, Jean Bir
rabou," sjfe said.
Enough! Twelve days later behold
me, Jean Birrabou, seated at a table
in the luxurious Hotel Planksteak.
Six salads did I order and consume
that day, but neevr a salad like that
of my master. Enough! I return the
following day. The waiters know me.
IJx them with my eyes and sternly
oyder salads. The salad Lillian I con
sume; the salad St. Louis; the salad
Passamaquoddy; the salad May Ir
win; the salad Captaine Cook. And
then, just as I decide that the rumor
is false, the waiter brings me the
I gasped, for there before me is the
identical salad of my master the Mar
quis, invented by him and known only
among the high aristocracy of
Prance. I fixed him with my eye.
"Who has invented this" salad?" I
"It is I, Monsieur," answered the
waiter, eyeing me bravely. "It is my
salad, which, because of its surpasl-