And then, when we had gone away from there and had traveled a
homeward mile or two, our friend found that the new shiny five-franc
piece was counterfeit--as false a thing as that manager's false
smile. We had bucked the unbeatable system, and we had lost.
Earlier that same evening we spent a gloom-laden quarter of an
hour in another cafe--one which owes 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.
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