It was the stranger's apparel that had attracted Eph's notice
particularly. The stranger was arrayed almost exquisite fashion; his
clothes were of finest texture and latest Parisian type. His little,
pointed shoes were almost as dainty as a girl's. Though the day was
warm the stranger was gloved, and handled a cane in the head of which a
handsome amethyst shone.
"I wonder how that got through the custom house?" was Eph Somers's next
undertoned question.
"Ah, good morning, gentlemen," greeted the stranger, coming toward them,
all smiles and bows. "Av I have not med ze mistake, zen I am address ze
torpedo boys."
"Right-o," drawled Eph. "Regular human torpedoes, as touchy as
gun-cotton. Why, I am due to explode this moment!"
Though the stranger looked puzzled at first, his face rapidly broke into
a cordial smile.
"Oh, ah! I understand. You mek what is call ze American joke, eh? You
have little fun wiz me."
The Frenchman, for that he unmistakably was, laughed in the utmost good
humor. The boys found themselves much inclined to like this stranger.
"Now, young gentlemen," continued the Frenchman, "I am ze Chevalier
Gari d'Ouray.
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