the Mammon of
Unrighteousness--he's a muddle-headed ass is Mammon, and you can steer
clear of his unrighteousness if you're sharp enough--or else to cast my
bread upon the waters in the certainty of finding it again after many
days. In the case in question I took the latter course. I cast my bread
a year or two ago upon the waters of the Roman baths, which I will have
the pleasure of showing you this morning, and I found it again last
night at the Hotel de la Curatterie."

In the course of the day he related to me the following artless history.

* * * * *

Aristide Pujol arrived at Nimes one blazing day in July. He had money in
his pocket and laughter in his soul. He had also deposited his valise at
the Hotel du Luxembourg, which, as all the world knows, is the most
luxurious hotel in the town. Joyousness of heart impelled him to a
course of action which the good Nimois regard as maniacal in the
sweltering July heat--he walked about the baking streets for his own
good pleasure.

Aristide Pujol was floating a company, a process which afforded him as
much delirious joy as the floating, for the first time, of a toy yacht
affords a child. It was a company to build an hotel in Perpignan, where
the recent demolition of the fortifications erected by the Emperor
Charles V. had set free a vast expanse of valuable building ground on
the other side of the little river on which the old town is situated.
The best hotel in Perpignan being one to get away from as soon as
possible, owing to restriction of site, Aristide conceived the idea of
building a spacious and palatial hostelry in the new part of the town,
which should allure all the motorists and tourists of the globe to that
Pyrenean Paradise. By sheer audacity he had contrived to interest an
eminent Paris architect in his project. Now the man who listened to
Aristide Pujol was lost. With the glittering eye of the Ancient Mariner
he combined the winning charm of a woman. For salvation, you either had
to refuse to see him, as all the architects to the end of the R's in the
alphabetical list had done, or put wax, Ulysses-like, in your ears, a
precaution neglected by the eminent M. Say. M. Say went to Perpignan and
returned in a state of subdued enthusiasm.

A limited company was formed, of which Aristide Pujol, man of vast
experience in affairs, was managing director. But money came in slowly.
A financier was needed. Aristide looked through his