Vistors never caught a glimpse of Rocco in the kitchens, though
sometimes, on a special night, he would stroll nonchalantly
through the dining-room, like the great man he was, to receive the
compliments of the hotel habitu?s - people of insight who
recognized his uniqueness.
Theodore Racksole's sudden and unusual appearance in the kitchen
caused a little stir. He nodded to some of the chefs, but said
nothing to anyone, merely wandering about amid the maze of
copper utensils, and white-capped workers. At length he saw
Rocco, surrounded by several admiring chefs. Rocco was bending
over a freshly-roasted partridge which lay on a blue dish. He
plunged a long fork into the back of the bird, and raised it in the
air with his left hand. In his right he held a long glittering
carving-knife. He was giving one of his world-famous exhibitions
of carving. In four swift, unerring, delicate, perfect strokes he
cleanly severed the limbs of the partridge. It was a wonderful
achievement - how wondrous none but the really skilful carver can
properly appreciate. The chefs emitted a hum of applause, and
Rocco, long, lean, and graceful, retired to his own apartment.
Racksole followed him. Rocco sat in a chair, one hand over his
eyes; he had not noticed Theodore Racksole.
'What are you doing, M. Rocco?' the millionaire asked smiling.
'Ah!'
exclaimed Rocco, starting up with an apology.
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