Its fame and most of its
American customs to the happy circumstance that in a certain famous
comic opera produced a few years ago a certain popular leading man
sang a song extolling its fascinations. The man who wrote the
song must have had a full-flowered and glamorous imagination, for
he could see beauty where beauty was not. To us there seemed
nothing particularly fanciful about the place except the prices
they charged for refreshments. However, something unusual did
happen there once. It was not premeditated though; the proprietor
had nothing to do with it. Had he known what was about to occur
undoubtedly he would have advertised it in advance and sold tickets
for it.
By reason of circumstances over which he had no control, but which
had mainly to do with a locked-up wardrobe, an American of convivial
mentality was in his room at his hotel one evening, fairly consumed
with loneliness. Above all things he desired to be abroad amid
the life and gayety of the French capital; but unfortunately he
had no clothes except boudoir clothes, and no way of getting any,
either, Which made the situation worse. He had already tried the
telephone in a vain effort to communicate with a ready-made clothing
establishment in the Rue St. Honore. Naturally he had failed, as
he knew he would before he tried. Among Europeans the telephone
is not the popular and handy adjunct of every-day life it is among
us. The English have small use for it because it is, to start with,
a wretched Yankee invention; besides, an Englishman in a hurry
takes a cab, as his father before him did - takes the same cab his
father took, if possible - and the Latin races dislike telephone
conversations because the gestures all go to absolute waste. The
French telephone resembles a dingus for curling the hair. You
wrap it round your head, with one end near your mouth and the other
end near your ear, and you yell in it a while and curse in it a
while; and then you slam it down and go and send a messenger. The
hero of the present tale, however, could not send a messenger - the
hotel people had their orders to the contrary from one who was not
to be disobeyed.
Finally in stark desperation, maddened by the sounds of sidewalk
revelry that filtered up to him intermittently, he incased his
feet in bed-room slippers, slid a dressing gown over his pajamas,
and negotiated a successful escape from the hotel by means of a
rear way. Once in the open he climbed into a handy cab and was
driven to the cafe of his choice, it being the same cafe mentioned
a couple of paragraphs ago.
Through a side entrance he made a hasty and unhindered entrance
into this place - not that he would have been barred under any
circumstances, inasmuch as he had brought a roll with him. A
person with a cluster of currency on hand is always suitably dressed
in Paris, no matter if he has nothing else on; and this man had
brought much ready cash with him. He could have gone in fig-leaved
like Eve, or fig-leafless like September Morn, it being remembered
that as between these two, as popularly depicted, Morn wears even
less than Eve. So he whisked in handily, and when he had hidden
the lower part of himself under a table he felt quite at home and
proceeded to have a large and full evening.
Soon there entered another American, and by that mental telepathy
which inevitably attracts like-spirit to like-spirit he was drawn
to the spot where the first American sat. He introduced himself
as one feeling the need of congenial companionship, and they shook
hands and exchanged names, and the first man asked the second man
to be seated; so they sat together and had something together, and
then something more together; and as the winged moments flew they
grew momentarily more intimate. Finally the newcomer said:
"This seems a pretty lachrymose shop. Suppose we go elsewhere and
look for some real doings."
"Your proposition interests me strangely," said the first man;
"but there are two reasons - both good ones - why I may not fare
forth with you. Look under the table and you'll see 'em."
The second man looked and comprehended, for he was a married man
himself; and he grasped the other's hand in warm and comforting
sympathy.
"Old Man," he said - for they had already reached the Old Man
stage - "don't let that worry you. Why, I've got more pants than
any man with only one set of legs has any right to have. I've got
pants that've never been worn. You stay right here and don't move
until I come back. My hotel is just round the corner from here."
No sooner said than done. He went and in a surprisingly short
time was back, bearing spare trousers with him. Beneath the
shielding protection of the table draperies the succored one slipped
them on, and they were a perfect fit. Now he was ready to go where
adventure might await them. They tarried, though, to finish the
last bottle.
Over the rim of his glass the second man ventured an opinion on a
topic of the day. Instantly the first man challenged him. It
seemed to him inconceivable that a person with intelligence enough
to have amassed so many pairs of trousers should harbor such a
delusion. He begged of his new-found friend to withdraw the
statement, or at least to abate it. The other man was sorry, but
he simply could not do it. He stood ready to concede almost
anything else, but on this particular point he was adamant; in
fact, adamant was in comparison with him as pliable as chewing
taffy.
