Mr. Secretary Crump translated. The President blinked, and intimated
that he would hear more. Mr. Scobell relighted his cigar-stump, and
proceeded.

"Say, you've heard of _Moosieer_ Blonk? Ask the old skeesicks if
he's ever heard of _Mersyaw_ Blonk, Crump, the feller who started
the gaming-tables at Monte Carlo."

Filtered through Mr. Crump, the question became intelligible to the
President. He said he had heard of M. Blanc. Mr. Crump caught the reply
and sent it on to Mr. Scobell, as the man on first base catches the
ball and throws it to second.

Mr. Scobell relighted his cigar.

"Well, I'm in that line. I'm going to put this island on the map just
like old Doctor Blonk put Monte Carlo. I've been studying up all about
the old man, and I know just what he did and how he did it. Monte Carlo
was just such another jerkwater little place as this is before he hit
it. The government was down to its last bean and wondering where the
Heck its next meal-ticket was coming from, when in blows Mr. Man, tucks
up his shirt-sleeves, and starts the tables. And after that the place
never looked back. You and your crowd gotta get together and pass a
vote to give me a gambling concession here, same as they did him.
Scobell's my name. Hand him that, Crump."

Mr. Crump obliged once more. A gleam of intelligence came into the
President's dull eye. He nodded once or twice. He talked volubly in
French to Mr. Crump, who responded in the same tongue.