We found a railway station somewhere, and then we got to Nice for dinner. Once more a soul-stirring argument between Barfleur and Sir Scorp. We would take tea at Rumpelmeyer’s--we would _not_ take tea at Rumpelmeyer’s. We would dine at The Regence; we would _not_ dine at The Regence. We would pay I-forget-how-many louis and enter the baccarat chambers of the Casino; we would _not_ do anything of the sort. It was desired by Barfleur that I should see the wonders of the sea-walk with the waves spraying the protecting wall. It was desired by Scorp that I should look in all the jewelry shop windows with him and hear him instruct in the jeweler’s art. How these matters were finally adjusted is lost in the haze of succeeding impressions. We _did_ have tea at Rumpelmeyer’s, however--a very commonplace but bright affair--and then we loitered in front of shop windows where Sir Scorp pointed out really astounding jewels offered to the public for fabulous sums. One great diamond he knew to have been in the possession of the Sultan of Turkey, and you may well trust his word and his understanding. A certain necklace here displayed had once been in his possession and was now offered at exactly ten times what he had originally sold it for. A certain cut steel brooch--very large and very handsome--was designed by himself, and was first given as a remembrance to a friend. Result--endless imitation by the best shops. He dallied over rubies and emeralds, suggesting charming uses for them. And then finally we came to the Casino--the Casino Municipale--with its baccarat chambers, its great dining-rooms, its public lounging-room with such a world of green wicker chairs and tables as I have never seen. The great piers at Atlantic City are not so large. Being the height of the season, it was of course filled to overflowing by a brilliant throng--cocottes and gamblers drawn here from all parts of Europe; and tourists of all nationalities. Sir Scorp, as usual, in his gentle but decided way, raised an argument concerning what we should have for dinner. The mere suggestion that it should be _canard à la presse_ and champagne threw him into a dyspeptic chill. “I will not pay for it. You can spend your money showing off if you choose; but I will eat a simple meal somewhere else.” “Oh, no,” protested Barfleur. “We are here for a pleasant evening. I think it important that Dreiser should see this. It need not be _canard à la presse_. We can have sole and a light Burgundy.” So sole it was, and a light Burgundy, and a bottle of water for Sir Scorp. CHAPTER XXVIII NICE