Yes, Paris is
safe enough--and so amusing."
Cahill seated himself heavily. "I trapped you into this fix, Mr.
Ranson," he said, "you know I did, and now I mean to get you out of
it. I ain't going to leave the man my Mame wants to marry with a
cloud on him. I ain't going to let her husband be jailed."
Ranson had run to his desk and from a drawer drew forth a roll of
bills. He advanced with them in his hand.
"Yes, Paris is certainly the place," he said. "Here's three hundred
dollars. I'll cable you the rest. You've never been to Paris, have
you? It's full of beautiful sights--Henry's American Bar, for
instance, and the courtyard of the Grand Hotel, and Maxim's. All good
Americans go to Paris when they die and all the bad ones while they
are alive. You'll find lots of both kinds, and you'll sit all day on
the sidewalk and drink Bock and listen to Hungarian bands. And Mary
and I will join you there and take you driving in the Bois. Now, you
start at once. I'll tell her you've gone to New York to talk it over
with father, and buy the ring. Then I'll say you've gone on to Paris
to rent us apartments for the honeymoon. I'll explain it somehow.
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