“Have nothing to do with him,” a handsome young man called to Kendall in French. “He thinks you have sugar.” And everybody laughed. The young man leaped to his feet, waved his arms above his head, and glared at his accuser. “_Bah!_” he shouted, explosively. “You are nothing ...” and sat down very suddenly, apparently forgetting the whole incident, for he leaned over the table to Kendall and said: “It is an argument—yes. You shall decide, is it not? A foolish argument. Behol’—if there is a king in Siam—eh, you observe?—and he is rich, oh, ver’, ver’ rich. You onderstand? Yes? Also, if there is a—what you call—a electric button here”—he turned wildly and shoved his thumb against the partition as if he were ringing an electric bell—“if I could press this button—do you understand?—and thees king in Siam is dead—oh, queek, sudden, like thees”—he caught a long thumb-nail against his upper teeth and snapped it—“so.... Now, then, if I can so to push the button and thees king is dead, and all his money is mine—the argument, messieurs, is—shall I do it. _Voilà!..._” He leaned back and regarded them gravely. “Give it a push,” said Bert. “Ah, you theenk!...” He leaped again to his feet and extended his hand across the table to Bert, who took it and shook hands rather embarrassedly. “I am Jacques,” said the young man. “We must to know one another. You are named—ah, Monsieur Bert.... Monsieur Ken-dall. Ha!... All my friends there, regard. Messieurs Bert and Ken-dall—my frien’s.... My frien’s—Messieurs Bert and Ken-dall. Now we are acquaint’, is it not? So.... You see that yo’ng man who spill soup on his coat. He is Monsieur Robert, great comedian at the Comédie Française. _Oui_, he make the first prize at the _Académie_ one year ago.... That other, with the hair _so_.... He is _espagnol_.... _Oui_. Also an actor, but not a comedian. He does _so_.” Jacques illustrated by scowling horribly in imitation of the tragic method. “He also make the first prize at the _Académie_ before two year.... They are ver’ clever.” Both young men so described got to their feet and came across to shake hands. “Those others,” continued Jacques, in full voice, “are jus’ boys an’ girl. You onderstand? Not anybody.... That one who look so jealous at hees girl—he make the dress for ladies. _Oui._ He have much money, but no brains.” At this _mot_ everybody shouted with laughter, and the girl who accompanied the maker of dresses disentangled herself from him and came across to sit down by Kendall, putting her cheek up to him. “She wants you should kees,” said Jacques, and Kendall shamefacedly planted a hurried kiss on her cheek. “And now you shall see—thees yo’ng man with her, he is ver’ jealous. Perhaps he shall beat her w’en they arrive at home.... _Oui...._”