He proceeded in the most leisurely manner, for he knew that he had
plenty of time. Indeed, the paper once finished, the remainder of the
day would stretch before him an empty wilderness--a waste as monotonous
and bare as the beach he had grown so weary of gazing at. So he gave
careful and minute attention to every item. He was in the midst of a
long and wholly uninteresting account of a charity bazaar, which the
Princess of Wales had opened, and where the Duchess of Blank-Blank had
made a tremendous hit and much money for a worthy cause, by selling her
kisses for a guinea each, when his attention was attracted by a discreet
shuffling of feet on the floor beside his chair. He looked up to see
standing there the little fat Alsatian-German-French proprietor of the
hotel.

"Why, hello, Pelletan," he said. "Want to speak to me?"

"Eef monsieur please," and Pelletan rubbed his chubby hands together in
visible embarrassment.

"All right; sit down."

Monsieur Pelletan coughed deprecatingly and deposited his plump body on
the extreme edge of a chair. It was easy to see that he was much
depressed--his usually rosy cheeks hung flaccid, his mustachios drooped
limply, his little black eyes were suffused and needed frequent
wiping--a service performed by a hand that was none too steady.

"Eet iss a matter of pusiness, monsieur," he began, falteringly. "You
haf perhaps perceive' t'at our custom hass fallen off."