The fumes of it would ruin any hotel.'
Theodore Racksole laughingly lighted the Rothschild Havana
which Babylon gave him, and they entered the hotel arm in arm.
But no sooner had they mounted the steps than little Felix became
the object of numberless greetings. It appeared that he had been
highly popular among his quondam guests. At last they reached the
managerial room, where Babylon was regaled on a chicken, and
Racksole assisted him in the consumption of a bottle of Heidsieck
Monopole, Carte d'Or.
'This chicken is almost perfectly grilled,' said Babylon at length. 'It
is a credit to the house. But why, my dear Racksole, why in the
name of Heaven did you quarrel with Rocco?'
'Then you have heard?'
'Heard! My dear friend, it was in every newspaper on the
Continent. Some journals prophesied that the Grand Babylon
would have to close its doors within half a year now that Rocco
had deserted it. But of course I knew better. I knew that you must
have a good reason for allowing Rocco to depart, and that you
must have made arrangements in advance for a substitute.'
'As a matter of fact, I had not made arrangements in advance,' said
Theodore Racksole, a little ruefully; 'but happily we have found in
our second sous-chef an artist inferior only to Rocco himself. That,
however, was mere good fortune.'
'Surely,' said Babylon, 'it was indiscreet to trust to mere good
fortune in such a serious matter?'
'I didn't trust to mere good fortune.
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