The situation was beginning to verge
on the embarrassing when a light dawned on me. She wanted a tip,
that was it! She had not done anything to earn a tip that I could
see; and unless one had been reared in the barbering business she
was not particularly attractive to look on, and even then only in
a professional aspect; but I tipped her and bade her begone, and
straightway she bewent, satisfied and smiling. From that moment
on I knew my book. When in doubt I tipped one person--the person
nearest to me. When in deep doubt I tipped two or more persons.
And all was well.
On the next evening but one I had another lesson, which gave me
further insight into the habits and customs of these gay and
gladsome Parisians. We were completing a round of the all-night
cafes and cabarets. There were four of us. Briefly, we had seen
the Dead Rat, the Abbey, the Bal Tabarin the Red Mill, Maxim's,
and the rest of the lot to the total number of perhaps ten or
twelve. We had listened to bad singing, looked on bad dancing,
sipped gingerly at bad drinks, and nibbled daintily at bad food;
and the taste of it all was as grit and ashes in our mouths. We
had learned for ourselves that the much-vaunted gay life of Paris
was just as sad and sordid and sloppy and unsavory as the so-called
gay life of any other city with a lesser reputation for gay life
and gay livers.
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