Evening Star Newspaper, June 6, 1937, Page 82

HE doorman at Frangois’' Restaurant knew exactly how to greet every old client. When he saw Middleton step from the cab, as big as a horse and as light as a stag, he drew himself up in half- laughing salute. “It’s a long time, Mr. Middleton,” he began. “It’s the las! time, Tom,” said Middleton. *‘Not the last time, sir,”” urged Tom, open- ing the door with an anxious face. “Unless you can change my luck for me,” said Middleton. He went down the inside steps and gave his top hat to the checkroom girl. The summer night was too warm for even a topcoat. “‘When you give that hat back to me, Mary,” he said, “leave some luck in- side it, will you?” “1'll fill it full'”’ laughed Mary. “It’s six months since you were here, and you still re- member names?”’ “My dear, there’s only one Mary in my life,”” he answered, and went with his smile into the dining room. Frangois’ is a good place. One may eat there as well as in Paris and pay five times as much. It has an air of subdued gilding and guilty comfort, and every corner is poured fuli of whispering discretion. The mirrors give surprising images of oneself in royal vistas, and the carpet makes one walk through a soundless dream. Large parties rarely go to Frangcois’ but many a Wall Street ship of state has been floated there in glasses of wine and many a romance has borrowed the listening quiet of Frangois’ for its happiest hours. The proprietor came with eager haste. He looked like a rat, though much too plump in every part except the face. i “Ah, Mr. Middleton, what a pleasure,” said Francois. “It is so long. But I have in- stinct, monsieur, and that instinct made me keep your table for you this evening. How is your father, monsieur?”’ “He’s dead,” said Middleton. “Ah, God have pity, how we grow old!” said Frangois. “Is he gone from us? . . . I have some special raspberries today, and a red Rhone wine that is perfect with them. Shall I mash them with the sugar now, and let them soak in the wine a little?” “Perhaps,” said Middleton. “And how many in your party, sir?”’ “One,” said Middleton. “I’'ve been féeding people for years, Frangois, and it occurred to me that I might ask one John Middleton to have my last dinner with me.” “Ah, monsieur! Your last?” “It will be lunch and supper, never dinner, after this,” said Middleton. “You see before you a young lawyer too brilliant to find work in Manhattan. Jealousy keeps him out, Fran- ¢ois.”” . “Perhaps they think of you in racing air- planes, monsieur, or shooting lions in the veldt and cannot imagine you behind a law- yer’s desk.” . “At any rate, Francois, here I am with my last forty dollars and John Middleton. I den't want to think. I want to eat. You do the thinking for me and let me enjoy one last perfect meal.” Frangois clicked his heels and bowed. “It shal! be done, monsieur.” There were not many people in the restau- rant, for the theatregoers already had left, but by a peculiar trick of acoustics Middleton could hear nearly every word spoken at a table of three men some distance from him. The three were not happy. Often they leaned their heads together, snarling. Then some growling oath came clearly to Middleton. He had wished to change to a more quiet spot but he was now lost in contemplation over a glass of iced French vermouth with a squeeze of lemon rind to give it bouquet. The taste of it was deeper than the tongue and gradu- ally washed away even the fear of the future. It had seemed plain a moment before that he should have gone with his law class straight from college into a Manhattan office without giving himself for a few galloping years to the world, but now the subtle wine gave him a warm comfort. He became inert with expec- tant pleasure. Therefore he made no gesture to move farther away and trusted to the music to cover the unpleasant voices of the three. The orchestra in Francois’, however, con- sists of a piano touched like a harp, a harp fingered by the wind, and a cello played as softly and sadly as young love could desire; for music in Frangois’ is to accompany con- versation rather than to take its place. The pianist at this moment was playing a muted violin; for at the piano sat a girl with shining THIS WEEK IHestroted by Marshall Froatz [he 1] from the HEL Nl " No one is safe from rackets! John Middleton rushed to the help of a beautiful victim; three hours later he was rubbing shoulders with death. Beginning a powerful serial which lifts the curtain on the two million dollar restaurant squeeze by Max BRAND Author of “Troubled Trail,” “South of the Rio Grande’’ and other pepulor novels auburn hair and a dress like the misty russet- green of willows in early April. She touched small bell-notes on the piano and sang an old Provencal song: - For all of my loves It was dancing and singing; It was laughter, laughter For all my loves. But you, like a shadow, Have overcome me And held me in silence. At the table for three a little man with a pretty moustache and ice-cold eyes said to Frangois (Middleton heard every word): “If you're going to have music, have music. Nobody wants tkat jabber.” Frangois shrank until wrinkles formed along the back of his coat. ‘“But many of my best patrons, monsieur — "’ “We are your best patrons,” said the little man. “Stop that noise and don’t let it come back.” The mind of Middleton slowly left Prov- ence and the French vermouth to consider this odd scene. For Frangois, the celebrated restaurateur, was taking this brutal command with a silent bow! But at the table, serving the three, there was a tall old Italian waiter with a yellow face and high-sprouting'white hair whose tray was almost unbalanced by what he had heard. He gestured anxiously. “But, gentlemen, gentlemen!” he pro- tested. ‘‘Where else will she take her beautiful art? If you are so cruel . . . " The cold eye of the little man lifted gradu- ally until the waiter was well within his ken. “She’s too young and you'’re too old. Get out!” he said. The waiter looked to his employer, aghast, but Francois, clasping his hands together, merely said: “Ah, mon Dieu!” and turned slowly away toward the musicians. He leaned beside the piano and began to talk with his head on one side, his shoulders almost shrug- ging the coat off with apology. Middleton could see the news strike the singer. He could see it by the sudden lifting of her head and by her smile. Then she rose, and he watched her lips ask: ‘“Now?”* After- ward, she was walking calmly across the floor; the little man at the table for three smiled a small smile that hardly troubled his mous- tache. It seemed to Middleton that he had seen the girl only by the light of her singing; he saw her now by her pride, and her beauty. Middleton left his table and met her at the cloakroom. Behind him he heard unsubdued laughter and knew that it came from the table of three. It was the big fat-faced man with the bald head, no doubt. Magoazine Section *“This box came for you, Miss Lewis,’’ Mary was saying. “For me? Here?'’ asked the girl. Her singing voice lacked distinction but her speaking voice did not. . “Mary, will you introduce us?”’ asked Middleton. “Oh!” said Mary. “Oh, yes; Mr. John Middleton, Miss Alison Lewis.” Alison Lewis looked at him with only the dimmest acknowl- edgment. “Do you hear the laughter in there?’’ asked Middleton. ‘““That comes from the table where the two big swine are sitting with the little one.” *“I know,”’ she nodded. “Please don't let them brush you out with one gesture,” said Middleton. *“What can I do?” she asked. “Have dinner with me,” said Middleton. Please, and we’ll think out something.” “Yes, yes,” formed the silent lips and the nodding head of Mary. For three seconds Alison Lewis looked at him as though she were seeing into his mind. Then: “I'd love it,” she said, and he took her back on his arm. Frangois accompanied them across the room, almost on tiptoe with anxiety. The men at the table of three turned and stared with unmannerly interest. “It’s dinner for two, now,” said Middleton to the proprietor. “Yes, monsieur,” panted Frangois. “I didn't know that you were acquainted with Miss Lewis . . . ” “Oh, we’ve known each other for years, haven't we?”’ “Years and years,” she said gravely. “Double the order for everything,” said Middleton, “and then send the sommelier over to the table. Do you like gardenias, Alison?”’ She measured and weighed and tasted him, as it were, in the flash of a glance. “‘Of course I like them,”” she said. “] knew I remembered that. Put three or four gardenias into a flat dish, Francois. And another one or two for mademoiselle.” “Why are you doing it?”’ asked the girl. “There could be only one good reason, couldn’t there?” : “And what is that?”’ she asked, beginning