The Slaves of Paris Émile Gaboriau (free reads .TXT) 📖

when Mascarin called a general meeting of his associates, was in the habit of assuming his very best attire; for as he was often called into the inner office to answer questions, he was much impressed with the importance of the occasion. This time, however, the subordinate, although he had received due notice of the meeting, was still in his everyday dress. This discomposed him a good deal, though he kept muttering to himself that he meant no disrespect by it. Early in the morning he had been compelled to make up the accounts of two cooks, who, having obtained situations, were leaving the servants’ lodging-house. When this matter was completed, he had hoped for half an hour’s leisure. As he was crossing the courtyard, however, he fell in with Toto Chupin bringing in his daily report, which Beaumarchef thought would be what it usually was⁠—a mere matter of form. He was, however, much mistaken; for though outwardly Toto was the same, yet his ideas had taken an entirely new direction; and when Beaumarchef urged him to look sharp, the request was received with a great deal of sullenness.

“I ain’t lost no time,” said he, “and have fished up a thing or two fresh; but before saying a word⁠—”

He stopped, and seemed a little confused.

“Well, go on.”

“I want a fresh arrangement.”

Beaumarchef was staggered.

“Arrangement!” he echoed.

“Of course you can lump it if yer don’t like it,” said the boy. “Do you think as how I’m going to work like a horse, and not get a wink of sleep, just for a ‘thank ye, Chupin?’ No fear. I’m worth a sight more nor that.”

Beaumarchef flew into a rage.

“Then you are not worth a pinch of salt,” said he.

“All right, my cove.”

“And you are an ungrateful young villain to talk like this after all the kindness your master has shown you.”

Chupin gave a sarcastic laugh.

“Goodness!” cried he. “To hear you go on, one would think that the boss had ruined himself for my sake.”

“He took you out of the streets, and has given you a room ever since.”

“A room, do you say? I call it a dog kennel.”

“You have your breakfast and dinner every day regularly.”

“I know that, and half a bottle of wine at each meal, which has so much water in it that it cannot even stain the tablecloth.”

“You are an ungrateful young hound,” exclaimed Beaumarchef, “and forget that, in addition to this, he has set you up in business as a hot chestnut seller.”

“Good old business! I am allowed to stand all day under the gateway, roasted on one side, and frozen on the other, and gain, perhaps twenty sous.”

“You know that in summer he has promised to set you up in the fried potato line.”

“Thank ye for nothing; I don’t like the smell of grease.”

“What is it you want, then?”

“Nothing. I feels that I ought to be a gentleman at large.”

Beaumarchef cast a furious glance at the shameless youth, and told him that he would report everything to his master. The boy, however, did not seem to care a pin.

“I intends to see Master Mascarin myself presently,” remarked Chupin.

“You are an idiot.”

“Why so? Do you think I didn’t live better before I had anything to do with this blooming old cove? I never worked then. I used to sing in front of the pubs, and easily made my three francs a day. My pal and I soon check ’em though, and then off we went to the theatre. Sometimes we’d make tracks for Ivry, and take our doss in a deserted factory, into which the crushers never put their noses. In the winter we used to go to the glass houses and sleep in the warm ashes. All these were good times, while now⁠—”

“Well, what have you to grumble at now? Don’t I hand you a five-franc piece every day that you are at work?”

“But that ain’t good enough. Come, don’t get shirty; all I asks is a rise of salary. Only say either Yes or No; and if you say No, why, I sends in my resignation.”

Beaumarchef would have given a five-franc piece out of his own pocket for Mascarin to have heard the boy’s impertinence.

“You are a young rascal!” said he, “and keep the worst of company. There is no use in denying it, for a hangdog fellow, calling himself Polyte, has been here asking after you.”

“My company ain’t any business of yours.”

“Well, I give you warning, you will come to grief.”

“How?” returned Toto Chupin sulkily. “How can I come to grief? If old Mascarin interferes, I’ll shut up his mouth pretty sharp. I wish you and your master wouldn’t poke their noses into my affairs. I’m sick of you both. Don’t you think I’m up to you? When you make me follow someone for a week at a time, it isn’t to do ’em a kindness, I reckon. If things turn out badly, I’ve only to go before a beak and speak up; I should get off easily enough then; and if I do so, you will be sorry for not having given me more than my five francs a day.”

Beaumarchef was an old soldier and a bold man, but he was easily upset, for the lad’s insolence made him believe that he was uttering words that had been put in his mouth by some wily adviser; and not knowing how to act, the ex-soldier thought it best to adopt a more conciliating demeanor.

“How much do you want?” asked he.

“Well, seven francs to start with.”

“The deuce you do! Seven francs a day is a sum. Well, I’ll give it you myself today and will speak about you to the master.”

“You won’t get me to loosen my tongue for that amount today; you may bet your boots on that,” answered the lad insolently. “I wants one hundred francs down on the nail.”

“One hundred francs,” echoed Beaumarchef, scandalized at such a demand.

“Yes, my cove, that and no less.”

“And what will you give in return? No, no, my lad;