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A Dearth of Berths

Mr. Kennedy Jones, one of the most powerful figures in the history of journalism, was a determined man. While he was staying on the Riviera an urgent message called him back to Fleet Street. Kennedy Jones wished to travel in comfort, but there were no sleepers to be had. However, he had made up his mind. He explained to the maitre of the Hotel de Paris, a gentleman of considerable influence, who assured Mr. Kennedy Jones that something should be arranged.

“‘K.J.’ arrived at the station confident of a princely reception,” writes Mr. Preston. “Judge then his fury and indignation when he found that the conductor of the train knew nothing about him, that all the berths were taken, and there was no hope of getting one. But still ‘K. J.,’ dominant, commanding, and insistent, was not defeated. He said dauntingly to the conductor: ‘Whose are those things in that berth there?’ pointing to a cabin The conductor explained that they were the things of M. Blank, a Frenchman. ‘K. J.’ slipped a couple of napoleons into the official's hand, and peremptorily ordered him to put the Frenchman's baggage outside in the corridor. The conductor threw up his hands in despair. He did not know what Monsieur would say when he found this outrage committed. But he clutched on to those two napoleons, and they clinched the matter. Shrugging, he departed, and ‘K. J.’ proceeded to take possession. To make doubly sure he undressed and got into bed at once.

“Just before the train started hell broke loose in the corridor. The dispossessed one had arrived. He screamed, tore his hair, and raised the devil. But the big brute of an Englishman was in bed, and the conductor, bought for two napoleons, protested that there must be a mistake, and all would doubtless be well if Monsieur would wait. Presently the noise died down.

“‘K. J.’ had a passable night. Next morning, after shaving and going to breakfast, he asked the conductor how the unlucky Frenchman had got on.

“‘I hope you looked after him as well as you could.’

“The conductor was all beams. ‘Ah, thank heavens, Monsieur, the Frenchman was all right, and slept beautifully.’

“‘How do you mean?’ asked ‘K. J.’ puzzled.

“‘Well,’ explained the conductor, ‘there was a saloon car put on at Marseilles, with a bath tres chic and accommodation of the most beautiful.’

“A strange suspicion dawned in ‘K. J.'s’ mind.

“‘Put on at Marseilles? Was there any name on it?’

“‘yes, it was for a Mistaire Jones Kennedy, but he did not come, so I put M.

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