The Centaurians
ously guarded this treasure, whatever it was, and skillfully turned my attention to other matters.
"And was it for this you resigned everything?" I blurted out.
"Exactly," he replied.
"Where does it lead to?"
"North Pole."
I turned to him in astonishment, he stared back defiantly.
I refrained from remark, but—a sensible man like Saxe. should have such a fool desire!
"And the end?" I asked stupidly.
"North Pole!" he cried out impatiently.
"Well! well! well!"
He took my arm and led me down stairs, remarking: "I was about to eat the finest dinner I ever tasted in my life."
I certainly enjoyed the meal. As a cook, Saxe. was an expert. His superb Sauterne and Chianti loosened our tongues, and Saxe. speedily learned I was wide and adrift as to my future intentions. This was during the pessimistic Sauterne stage, when the preparatory gloom of expected hilarity causes one to view life sadly, and I ended up a long-winded refrain with: "Honestly, Saxe., I believe the end of it all will be a woman!"
Saxe. was horrified.
"A woman!" he yelled, "A woman! good heavens, Salucci, you must be mad!"
"It's an ordinary madness," I snapped, "and I see no occasion for excitement if eventually the main idea should develop into a woman. What's so
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