“Well, he made that woman give up the jewels and he paid her back the money for them, then he said to her: ‘You ought to be thankful that I am touring with a party, or sure as I am a man, I’d hand you over to the police for what I know you had planned in your evil mind.’ Then he made me come away from her.
“When we were out of hearing he told me that from his experience in mining-camps, and cities where miners go to spend their earnings, he could tell that the woman was not right. He thinks she actually led me on to gamble, to ruin my chances of getting back to my friends.”
The innocent girl gazed at her companion, and Mr. Fabian nodded his head understandingly, without saying a word. Then she continued: “But that is terribly wicked! Why do they permit such things to happen here?”
“Why will people come here to visit the place with the sole idea of going away with more money than they came? They ought to know that all this lavish expenditure and display has to be maintained, and the money for that comes out of the foolish gamesters who always lose at such tables,” said Mr. Fabian.
“I suppose I was very silly to leave my friends and come alone to Nice. They wanted me to go with them, but I preferred this place to the Alps and mountain climbing, so I agreed to meet them at Paris, later. I said I was going to visit with some friends at Nice, but I believed I could take care of myself. Now I think differently.”
Her voice was so repentant and meek that Mr. Fabian said: “Maybe this lesson will prove to be the best one of your life. Let it teach you that head-strong ways are always sure to end in a pitfall. And remember, ‘that a wolf generally prowls about in sheep’s clothing to devour the innocent lamb.’ Thank goodness that you escaped the wolf – but thank Mr. Alexander for being that goodness.”
The others returned, now, and as there was nothing more to visit at Monte Carlo, they drove on to Nice to spend the night. The girls found Genevieve Van Buren a most congenial companion and everyone showed a keen desire to befriend her.
A telegram awaited her at Nice, and Mr. Alexander had the satisfaction of reading it. Her friends, to whom he had wired from Monte Carlo when he heard Genevieve’s story, said they would be at Paris the following day.
Before Mr. Fabian and his companions drove away from Nice, they saw the repentant girl safely on the train to Paris.
Having said good-by to Genevieve, the tourists left Nice; they drove to Marseilles and the girls visited several mills where famous textiles are woven.
Cannes was the next place the cars passed through, and then Aix was reached. Mr. Fabian wished to stop long enough at this city, which was founded B.C. 122 by a Roman named Sextius Calvinus, to show his students the ruins and historic objects of antiquity.
At Avignon the tourists saw the famous bridge and the many notable and ancient buildings – some ruins having remained there since the town was founded by the Phœnicians in 600 B.C.
They stopped over-night at Avignon, and early in the morning, started cross-country for Bordeaux. The roads were heavy and the travelling slow, and they found it necessary to stop at the peasants’ homes and ask, to make sure they were on the right road. At several of these stops, Mr. Fabian and the girls acquired some old bits of pottery and porcelain which the poor people were glad to sell, and the collectors were over-joyed to buy.
All along the country route from Marseilles, the women seen wore picturesque costumes, with heavy wooden shoes on their feet. These shoes were lined with sheep-skin to protect the instep from bruises. The children playing about their homes were scantily clothed, but their rosy faces and plump little bodies spoke plainer than words, that they were healthy and happy, and cared naught for style.
Quite often, when the cars passed over a stream, or ran along the banks of a river, the occupants would see the peasant women washing linen in the water. They knelt upon the bank, or upon a stone near the shore, and beat the clothes with sticks as the water flowed through the pieces. The garments were rinsed out and then wrung, before hanging upon the bushes nearby to dry.
Mr. Alexander remarked: “Good for dealers in white goods.”
CHAPTER XIV – A HIGHWAYMAN IN DISGUISE
The roads were so poor that it was impossible to reach Bordeaux that evening, and Mr. Fabian said it would be better to stop at a small Inn in a village, should they find a promising one. Consequently they decided that the clean little inn at Agen would answer their needs that night.
The two cars were rolled under a shed at the back, and the guests were shown to the low-ceiled chambers with primitive accommodations. But the supper was good, and the host a jolly fat man.
While the tourists were finishing their coffee, a little bent man limped into the public room. He had great hoops of gold in his ears, and his costume was very picturesque. After he had been given a glass of home-made wine, he sat down in a corner and began playing softly on an accordion.
He had a marvelous talent for this instrument, and the girls crowded about him, listening intently. Soon the host’s grown daughter came out and danced a folk-dance, and then others danced the old-time French dances. When the American girls were called upon to add their quota to the evening’s entertainment, they gladly complied.
Polly and Eleanor, Dodo and Nancy danced the modern steps so popular with young folks of the present day, and the peasants, watching closely, laughed at what they considered awkward and ridiculous gambols. But the dancing suddenly ceased when a young man called upon the musician to have his fortune told; he held out his palm and waited to hear his future.
Fully two hours were spent in laughing at the “fortunes” the old gipsy man told – for he was one of the original Spanish gipsies, who had wandered to the southern part of France and settled there for life.
The girls giggled and reviewed their fortunes that night long after they had retired. As they had to occupy the two massive beds in one guest-room, it gave them the better opportunity to talk when they should have been fast asleep.
Finally they were ready to sleep and Polly was about to snuff the candle before jumping into bed, when Nancy suddenly whispered: “S – sh!”
The four sat up and strained their sense of hearing. “I heard a queer noise just outside our door,” whispered Nancy.
“I’ll tip-toe over and see who it is,” whispered Polly, acting as she spoke.
“No – no! Don’t open the door! That gipsy may be there,” cried Nancy, fearfully.
But another scratching sound under the low window now drew all attention to that place. Polly slowly tip-toed silently to the open window and tried to peer out. The trees and vines made the back of the garden shadowy and she could not see if anyone were under the window, or trying to get in somewhere else.
The other three girls now crept out of bed and joined Polly at the window. They waited silently, and were soon rewarded for their patience. They distinctly heard voices almost under their window, whispering carefully, so no one would be awakened.
“I think we ought to rouse Daddy, or Mr. Alexander,” said Nancy, trembling with apprehension.
“You run and tell your father, while I get Pa out of bed,” said Dodo, groping about for her negligee.
Meantime Polly and Eleanor watched so no one could get in at their window, and the two other girls ran across the hall to their parents’ rooms. In a short time both Mr. Fabian and Mr. Alexander came in and crept over to the window where the girls had heard the burglars plotting.
Mr. Fabian understood French so now he interpreted what he overheard: “Drop the bundle and I’ll catch it. Don’t make a noise, and be careful not to overlook anything valuable.”
“Dear me! If they are burglars where is the one who is told to drop a bundle? He must be inside, somewhere!” whispered Dodo, excitedly.
There followed a mumbling that no one could understand, and then a splash, – as if a bundle of soft stuff had dropped into water from a height. Immediately after this, the voice from below excitedly spoke to the companion above: “ – It fell in the well! Now what is to be done?”
“Goody! Goody!” breathed Polly, eagerly, when she heard how the burglars had defeated their own purpose.
But no sound came from the other burglar who was working indoors, and Mr. Alexander had an idea which he suggested to Mr. Fabian.
“You go downstairs softly, while I scout around up here and locate the room where the helper is working. When I give a whistle it means ‘I’ve got the other feller under hand’ – then you catch your man, red-handed, out in the garden, and the girls will rouse the house and we will present our prisoners to the host.”
That sounded fine, so Mr. Alexander hurried to his room for his western gun, and started out to hunt up the indoor worker. Mrs. Alexander realized that he was about to do something unusual, or he never would have taken his big revolver.
“Ebeneezer, what is wrong? Are we in danger of being robbed?”
“I’m going to catch one before we can think if there is any danger, for anyone,” said her husband, going for the door.
“Listen, Ebeneezer! Don’t you go and risk your life for that! You promised to take care of me first! Let Mr. Fabian, or some of the Frenchmen here, try and catch the man!” cried Mrs. Alexander, hysterically, running after her spouse.
But the little man was spry and he was out of the door and down the entry before his wife reached the doorway. There was but one alternative for her, and that was to go to the girls’ room and pour her troubles forth into their ears.
But the four girls were too intent upon what was going on to sympathize with Mrs. Alexander. Dodo merely said, in reply to her mother’s complaints: “Get into my bed, Ma, and pull the covers over your head, if you’re so frightened.”
All this time, the man down in the garden was directing his associate above, and at last the girls indistinctly saw someone slowly descend, what seemed to be a rope hanging close to the side of the house. They held their breath and waited, for Mr. Fabian surely must have reached the garden by this time and would be ready to capture the escaping thieves, before they could get away.
But a loud shouting and a great confusion in the large public room drew their attention to the upper hall, where they could hear what was going on below. Mrs. Fabian joined her friends in the entry at the head of the stairs and they heard the host shout:
“So! You look like a decent gentleman and you creep down here to take my living from me! Shame, shame!”
Then to the horror of the girls, they heard Mr. Fabian remonstrate volubly and try to explain his reason for going about the place so stealthily.
Mrs. Fabian rushed down the stairs, regardless of her curl-papers and kimono, and the girls followed closely upon her heels. Only Mrs. Alexander remained upstairs under the bed-covers, thinking discretion to be the better part of valor.
The host and some other guests were surrounding Mr. Fabian who tried to explain that Mr. Alexander and he were following burglars who were looting the place. The host smiled derisively, and told his guest to prove what he said was true.
Just then Mrs. Alexander screamed, and came pell-mell down the stairs. “Oh, oh! A gipsy man came out of the girls’ room!”
Everyone ran upstairs to catch the trespasser, but he was not to be found. Then a scuffle, and confused shouts from the garden, reached the ears of the crowd who stood wondering what next to do. A clear shrill whistle echoed through the place, and Mr. Fabian turned impatiently.
“Now you’ve spoiled the arrest of those two burglars. I was to get the outside man when that whistle sounded, to tell me that Mr. Alex had the inside man safely in hand.”
But the shouting and whistling sounded more confused on the garden-side of the house, so they all ran downstairs again, and went out to assist in any way they might.
Someone was hanging on to someone else who clung for dear life to a thick vine that grew up the side wall and over the roof of the inn. It was this rope-like vine that the girls had mistaken for a rope of escape for the thief. Mr. Alexander was in the garden, trying to drag down the escaping burglar, while that individual was trying to climb back into the room whence he had recently come.
Just as the others rushed out into the dark garden to assist Mr. Alexander, another man appeared at the upper window and caught hold of his associate’s hands to pull him back to safety.
“Wait! I get my ladder!” shouted the host, running for the shed. But a howl of rage, and French curses tumbling pell-mell from him told the others that he had gone headlong into a new danger.
Mr. Fabian and the young man-waiter ran to help the poor inn-keeper, and to their amazement they found he had collided with Mrs. Alexander’s roadster which was standing behind the bushes, facing towards the road.
“I’ll turn on the lights, in a moment, and see if all is right,” quickly said Mr. Fabian, jumping up to start the engine.
Before he could switch on the lights, however, a general shout of dismay came from the people assembled under the window, and the three men ran back to see what had happened.
The second-story windows were not more than eight feet above the garden at the rear, as the ground sloped down gradually to the front of the Inn. The first story was very low, too, so that anyone could climb up at the rear without difficulty.
When Mr. Fabian and his two companions reached the scene under the windows, they found three people rolling upon the ground in a tight clutch. The man from the inside of the room who had been finally pulled out and over the ledge; the man who had clung to the vine, for some reason or other, and the third man who had stood at the bottom of the vine and hung on to the climbing man’s heels.
From this mêlée of three, Mr. Alexander’s voice sounded clear and threatening. A deep bass voice gurgled as if in extremity, but the third voice was shrill and hysterical and sounded like a woman’s.
Lights were hurried to the spot, and the three contestants were separated, then Mr. Alexander had the satisfaction of turning to the inn-keeper and saying: “I caught them both without help. I saved your place from being robbed.”
But one of the two captured burglars sat down on the grass and began to sob loudly. The host seemed distracted for a moment, then tore off the big soft hat the gypsy wore. Down came a tangle of hair, and his daughter turned a dirt-streaked face up at her furious father.
“What means this masquerading! And who is the accomplice?” shouted he.
“Oh, father,” wailed the girl. “Pierre and I were married at the Fête last week, but you would not admit him to the house and I never could get away, so we said we would run away together and start a home elsewhere,” confessed the frightened daughter.
Pierre stood by, trembling in fear of his father-in-law, but when everyone realized that poor Pierre was but trying to secure his bride’s personal effects which she had tied in several bundles, they felt sorry for the two.
It had been Pierre’s idea to dress Jeanne in a gypsy’s garb that no one could recognize her when they escaped, and it was Jeanne who suggested that they use the roadster to carry all her effects, and then Pierre could drive it back and leave it near the inn without the owner’s knowledge.
The father led his two prisoners to the public-room and the guests trailed behind them, wondering at such an elaborate plan for escape when the two had been married a week and might have walked out quietly without disturbing others, at night.
In an open session of the parental court, the inn-keeper was induced to forgive the culprits and take the undesirable Pierre to his heart and home. Then everyone smiled, and the waiter proposed that the host open a bottle of his best old wine to celebrate the reception of the married pair.
“Why did you object to the young man? He looks like a good boy?” asked Mr. Fabian, when the young pair were toasted and all had made merry over the capture of the two.
“He has a farm four miles out, and I want a son who will run this inn when I am too old. He dislikes this business and I dislike farming. So there you are!” explained the host.
“But you won’t have to work the farm,” argued Mr. Fabian. “You have the inn and many years of good health before you to enjoy it, and they have the farm. I think the two will work together, very nicely, for you can get all your vegetables and eggs and butter from your daughter, much cheaper than from strangers.”
“Ah yes! I never thought of that!” murmured the inn-keeper, and a smile of satisfaction illumed his heavy face.
The next morning the young pair were in high favor with the father, and he was telling his son-in-law about various things he must raise on his farm so that both families might save money.
Then the tourists drove away from Agen with the inn-keeper’s blessings ringing in their ears, and after a long tiresome drive they came to Bordeaux. Various places of interest were visited in this city, and the next day they drove on again.
Brittany, with its wealth of old chateaux, was reached next, and time was spent prodigally, that the girls might view the wonderful old places where tourists were welcomed.
CHAPTER XV – AHOY! FOR THE STARS AND STRIPES AGAIN
Finally the tourists stopped at Nantes where the famous edict of Henri the IVth was proclaimed in 1598. Then they drove on to Angers, with the old Chateau d’ Angers, built by Louis IXth, about 1250.
They stopped over night at Angers and drove to Saumur the next day, where several pieces of rare old tapestry were seen in the ancient church of St. Pierre.
That night they reached Tours where they planned to stop, in order to make an early start for Loches with its famous chateau. Adjoining this chateau was a thousand-year-old church of St. Ours which Mr. Fabian desired to show the girls.
The old keeper of the church mentioned the Chateau of Amboise which was only a short distance further on the road and was said to be well worth visiting. So they drove there and saw the chapel of St. Hubert which was built by Charles the VIIth. Here lies buried the remains of Leonardo da Vinci, the famous painter.
While at St. Hubert’s Chapel, the tourists heard of still another ancient chateau of the 10th century, which was but a few miles further on, on the Loire. As this Chateau ’de Chaumont was only open to visitors on certain days and this day happened to be one of those days, they visited the place.
“My gracious!” exclaimed Mr. Alexander, when they came from the last ancient pile. “I’ll be so glad to get back to Denver, where the oldest house is only half a century old, that I won’t say a word if you’ll agree to only use another precious week lookin’ at these moldy old rocks and moss-back roofs.”
His friends laughed, for they knew him well by this time. Mrs. Alexander, however, was not so thankful to go back to Denver, nor was she willing to see any more old chateaux. So she said: “Let’s drive on to Paris where we have so much shopping to do.”
“Oh no, Ma. The keeper of that last chateau told us there was the finest old place of all, a few miles on, so we want to see that as long as we are here,” said Dodo.
“All right, then! You-all go on and see it, but I’ll stay here,” declared Mrs. Alexander.
“I don’t want to see any more ruins, Maggie, so s’pose you and I drive in your car and let Dodo drive the touring car to any old stone-heap they want to visit,” said Mr. Alexander.
“All right, Ebeneezer. I honestly believe I’d rather sit beside you, in my new car, than have to limp around these old houses,” sighed Mrs. Alexander.
Her words were not very gracious, but her spouse thought that, being her guest in the new car, was better than having to wait for hours outside a ruin. So Dodo drove her friends on to the Chateau de Blois, and they inspected the old place, then saw the famous stable that was built to accommodate twelve hundred horses at one time.
“Here we are, but a short distance from Orleans – why not run over there and visit the place, then drive back to Nantes to meet your father and mother,” suggested Mr. Fabian.
“It seems too bad that we have to go all the way back for them, when we are so near Paris, now,” said Dodo.
“Oh, but we haven’t finished the most interesting section of France, yet!” exclaimed Eleanor, who had been looking over Mr. Fabian’s road-map.
“In that case, I fear we will lose Ma for company,” said Dodo, laughingly. “As we come nearer Paris, she is more impatient to reach there. She may suddenly take it into her head to let her car skid along the road that leads away from us and straight for Paris.”
From Nantes they drove straight on without stopping until Caens was reached; Mr. Fabian pointed out various places along the road, and told of famous historical facts in connection with them, but they did not visit any of the scenes.
Caen, with its old churches and quaint buildings, was very interesting to the girls. Then at Bayeaux they went to see the wonderful Bayeaux tapestry which was wrought by Matilda and her Ladies in Waiting in 1062. This tapestry is two hundred and thirty feet long and twenty inches wide, but it pictures the most marvellous historical scenes ever reproduced in weaving.
From Bayeaux they went to Mont St. Michel to see the eight hundred year-old monastery which is so well preserved. Rouen, the capital of Normandy, was the next stopping place on the itinerary, and here they saw many ancient Norman houses as well as churches. But the principal point of interest for the girls, was the monument in Rouen, erected to the memory of Joan of Arc, who was burned to death for her faith.
The night they spent at Rouen, Mr. Alexander had a serious talk with Mr. Fabian and his girls.
“You see, I want to please you-all, but Maggie won’t stand for any more of this gallivantin’ around old churches. I’m gettin’ awful tired of it, myself, but then I don’t count much, anyway.
“Maggie says she’s goin’ right on to Paris, whether you-all do so or not; and if I let her go there alone, she’ll buy her head off with fine clothes, and then Dodo and me won’t know what to do to cart them all back to the States. So I have to go with her in self-defense, you understand!”
They laughed at the worried expression on the little man’s face, and Mr. Fabian said: “Well, Mr. Alex, we are through sight-seeing for this time, anyway, so we may as well run back to Paris when you do.”
“Oh, that’s good news! Almost as good as if I won the first prize in the Louisanny Lottery!” laughed Mr. Alexander, jocosely.
So they all drove to Paris, where Mr. Ashby was to meet them, in a few days. As Mr. Alexander deftly threaded the car in and out through the congested traffic, he sighed and said: “I never thought I’d be so glad to see this good-for-nothin’ town again. But I’ve been so tossed and torn tourin’ worst places, that even Paris looks good to me, now.”
His friends laughed and his wife said: “Why, it is the most wonderful city in the world! I am going to enjoy myself all I can in the next three days.”
“You’d better, Maggie! ’cause we are leavin’ this wild town in just three days’ time!” declared Mr. Alexander.
“Why – where are you going, then?” asked Mrs. Alexander, surprised at her husband’s determined tone.
“Straight back to Denver, as fast as a ship and steam-cars will carry us!”
“Never! Why, Ebeneezer, I haven’t succeeded in doing what I came over for,” argued Mrs. Alexander.
“No, thank goodness; and Dodo says she’s standin’ for a career now,” laughed Mr. Alexander. “I agree with her, and she can start right in this Fall to study Interior Decoratin’, if she likes.”
Mrs. Alexander did not reply, and no one knew what she thought of Dodo’s determination, but when all the shopping was done, and Mr. Ashby met them at the hotel, she seemed as anxious as the others, to start for home.
“We are to pick up Ruth and Mrs. Ashby at Dover, you know,” said Mr. Ashby, when he concluded his plans for the return home.
“Well, we have had a wonderful tour out of this summer. I never dreamed there were so many marvellous things to see, in Europe,” said Polly.
That evening, several letters were handed to the Fabian party, and among them was one for Polly and another for Eleanor. Polly’s was stamped “Oak Creek” and the hand-writing looked a deal like Tom Larimer’s. But Eleanor’s was from Denver and Dodo cried teasingly: “Oh, I recognize Paul Stewart’s writing! It hasn’t changed one bit since he was a boy and used to send me silly notes at school.”
Eleanor laughed at that, but why should she blush? Polly gazed thoughtfully at her, and decided that Nolla must have no foolish love affair, yet – not even with Paul Stewart!
Then Eleanor caught Polly’s eye and seemed to comprehend what was passing through her mind. She quickly rose to the occasion.
“Polly, if I confess that my letter is from Paul, will you own up that yours is from Tom – and tell us the truth about the American Beauty Roses?”
Polly became as crimson as the roses mentioned, and sent her chum a look that should have annihilated her. But Eleanor laughed.
That evening, as the merry party sat at dinner in the gay Parisian dining-room, Mr. Alexander suddenly sat up. His lower jaw dropped. He was opposite a wall-mirror and in its reflection he could see who came in at the door back of him.
He had been telling a funny incident of the tour and had but half finished it, so his abrupt silence caused everyone to look at him. His expression then made the others turn and look at what had made him forget his story.
In the doorway stood Count Chalmys, looking around the room. Now his eyes reached the American party at the round table and he smiled delightedly. In another moment he was across the room and bowing before the ladies.
Mr. Alexander grunted angrily and kept his eyes upon his plate. He never wanted to see another man who had a title! But his wife made amends for his apparent disregard for conventions. She made room beside herself and insisted that the Count sit down and dine.
“I never had a pleasanter surprise,” said he. “I expected to see the Marquis here, but I find my dear American friends, instead.”
“Humph! What play are you acting in now, Count?” asked Mr. Alexander, shortly.
“That’s what brought me to Paris. I was to meet the Marquis here, and we both were to sail from Havre, day after tomorrow. We have accepted a long engagement with a leading picture company in California, so I am to go across, at once,” explained the Count, nothing daunted by Mr. Alexander’s tone and aggressive manner.
“Oh really! How perfectly lovely for us all!” exclaimed Mrs. Alexander, clasping her hands in joy.
Then she turned to her daughter who seemed not to be giving as much attention to the illustrious addition to the party, as Mrs. Alexander thought proper.
“Dodo, must you talk such nonsense with Polly when our dear Count is with us and, most likely, has wonderful things to tell us of his adventures since last we saw him at his beautiful palace?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Ma, but I didn’t know the Count had said anything to me,” hastily returned Dodo.
“I really haven’t, as yet, Miss Alexander, but there is every symptom that something is being mulled over in my brain,” was the merry retort from the Count.
“All the same, Dodo, I want you to give attention to the dear Count, now that he is with us, once more,” said Mrs. Alexander, with such dignity as would suit the mother-in-law of a Count.
“Aye, aye, Sir!” laughed the irrepressible Dodo, bringing her right hand to her forehead in a military salute.
“I joined the party, just now, merely to share a very felicitous secret with you. One that I feel sure you will all be pleased to hear. Perhaps the three young ladies in the group will be more interested in my secret than the matrons,” ventured Count Chalmys, with charming self-consciousness.
Instantly, Mrs. Alexander interpreted the secret as one that meant success to her strenuous endeavors to find a “title” for her daughter. She had heard that foreign nobility made no secret of love or proposals, but spoke to interested friends of intentions to marry, even before the young woman had been told or had accepted a proposal of marriage. This, then, must be what Count Chalmys was about to tell them.
“Oh, my dear Count! Before you share that secret with every one, especially while the children are present, wouldn’t you just as soon wait and have a private little chat with me?” gushed Mrs. Alexander, tapping him fondly on the cheek with her feather fan.
The Count stared at her in perplexity for he was not following her mood, nor did he give one fleeting thought to such foolishness as she endowed him with entertaining.
“You know, my dear Count! I am speaking of certain little personal matters regarding settlements and such like, which I only can discuss with you, satisfactorily. After that, you can confide in the others, if you like. However, I should think you would speak to the one most concerned, before you mention it in public.” Mrs. Alexander spoke in confidential tones meant only for the Count’s ear.
“My dear lady! I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean. I was only going to tell my good friends, here, that – ”
“Yes, yes! I know what you were going to say, dear Count,” hastily interrupted Mrs. Alexander, “but allow me to advise you: Say nothing until after I have had a private talk with you. I am sure Dodo will look at things very differently after I have had time to get your view-points and then tell them to her.”
Count Chalmys began to receive light on the hitherto unenlightening advices from the earnest lady. He now had difficulty in hiding a broad smile. But Mrs. Alexander paid no heed to him.
“You see, Count dear, we shall have several wonderful days on this trip across, in which you can make the best of your opportunities with Dodo, but really, I think it wise to consult with me first.”