"When the Colonel realized what it was all about he jumped into the middle of the room, pushed his silk hat back of his ears, flapped his coat-tails, and sailed into 'em in good old Southern style. I tell you he must have made the eagle scream. He was a Colonel in the Confederate Army, he was--the Thirtieth Georgia. The whole thing was a miserable French scheme to blackmail him. He'd appeal to the American Ambassador. He'd see if a parcel of French soup-makers and a police judge could interfere with the Constitution of the United States. Every once in a while he'd yell '_Conspuez_' or '_À bas_' and sort of froth at the mouth. He made a great big impression. Then Maître Labori got in _his_ licks. He said Tomlinson was a wolf in sheep's clothing--a rascal--a 'vilain m'sieur,' whatever that is. "Finally he inquired, with a very unpleasant smile, if Buncomb had ever asked him to buy any stock? "Tomlinson had to say 'No.' "Did Larry Summerdale? "'No' "Didn't Blake tell him the stock was worthless? "'Yes.' "How did he know the stock wasn't worth what he paid for it? "'Well, he didn't absolutely.' "The Labori said something with a long rattling 'r' in it like a snake, and turned with a gesture of extreme contempt to the Judge. He remarked that one glance of comparison between Colonel Buncomb and Tomlinson would show which was the gentleman and which was the rogue. Then the first thing our friend knew the court had adjourned--they had all been turned out--discharged--acquitted. But the thing that most disgusted Tomlinson was that as he was coming away he saw the whole push, the Colonel and Larry and Blake, all piling into a big Panhard autocar. They passed him going about eighty miles an hour. You see, Tomlinson had paid for that car, and he'd always wanted one to run himself. The last he heard of 'em they were tearing up the Riviera." "And what did Tomlinson do then?" asked McAllister. "There was nothing he could do in Paris, so he came home on a ten-day boat and went to visit his uncle up at Methuen, Mass. Gay place, Methuen! Saturday night you can ride down to Lawrence on the electric car for a nickel and hear the band play in front of the gas works. But the simple life has done him good." II