Newspaper Page Text
16
FRENCH CAPITAL CAPTURED
BY AMERICAN GUESTS.
Our Women Are Distinguished Above All
Others by Their Natural Wtf>s.
Our Men Spotted Kveryvliore by Their Trousers und Shoes—l nrle Sam's
\ I most ns V.ncli in Bvidenee In the French Capital as the Tri
color Itself—l ankee Dollars .Himlint; Pleasantly Throughout
the exposition i it> —I'arisinns Are I,earning That Some
of 1 s Have Artistic Tastes nil and Tlint We Don’t Put Ip
Witli Petty lied Tape—We Turn Down the
Scrubby On ides, hut Pay the Prlee to the
Colnnan—Mnny of Our Workingmen
at the Show.
Pari>. June A -The French capital is
fuarming with Americans just now. At
the exposition, on the boulevards, at nil
the show places of the city, in the cafes
the restaurants and theaters, the Yankees
ere making 1 themselves every day m -re
evident. In the midst of the cosmopolitan
crowd which the exposition has brought
to Paris our country folk are easily rec
ognisable even by their exterior appear
ance. The women stand out in any crowd
by reason of their fine figures, ieg.ilar
features, easy air and stately walk.
"What a magnificent woman! A Strang -r?
Hmm. Must be an America in\” you will
hear an old Parisian say as he sip® his
absinthe on the boulevards Itefore dinner,
watching the passing of the eternal pro
cession. And. in very truth, the
ceine has brought a welcome touch of
fre>h, quietly Independent naturalness on I
Individuality into a city where the most
beautiful women are often soiled by
made-up affectedness and coquettish airs.
But in their own way the American men
are quite s distinguishable here this
year. They ore picked out in a
moment from the immense concourae
of visiting strangers ly their deter
mined, clean shaven faces, their “ .et
there,” walk, by the broail white hats
with which most of them have elected to
punctuate Paris by their double-breasted
jacket-coats and by the thin-legged trous
ers that most of them wear. Those trous
ers, fitting close to the leg and throwing
the shoe into strong relief, rather startle
the Parisians,* who think hi once of sta
bles—or prairies.
They Take In All for Horsemen.
“Your countrymen ride a great deal evi
dently; I suppose that Is because, with all
your vast/railroad systems, you haven’t
had time yet to make suburban connec
tions and that sort of tiling.” remarked
a Frenchman to un American encountered
in a cafe the other day.
It was a long time l>efore the Parisian
cbuld understand that there was no neces
sary connection between the thin-legged
trousers and horse riding, and that New
York, Chicago ami San Francisco were not
merely vast collections of shops, rising
unexpectedly out of wild prairie lands,
dotted here and there with millionaires’
palates. The notion of the commuter was
iiew to him; he thought that redskins
danced hideous war dances every night
round the carefully guarded fortresses
where the oil kings hoarded their earn
ings.
French Ignorance of America, despite
ad the -writers who have beef& at woi'!-
discovering us in past years, remains ex
traordinarily dense. This year, however,
the American citizen is leaving such a
mark on the capital hat, probably before
the exposition has pulled In its last Ameri
can dollar, the people will have ceased
to accept the works of Fenlmore Cooper,
much lead in translation, as accurate
transcripts of our daily life.
One cless of Parisians lias already found
reason to revise- its opinion of our trav
eling folk. Formerly the tourist Ameri
can was the pet customer of the scrubby
guides—those plagues of Paris who talk
n little of every language under the ten
and pesrer the innocent stranger to 1 ath
with their entreaties to I*;* allowed to
tfhow him round the great city In tl\e
minut< s, live hours or live days, according
to the length of milor’s stay. The Ameri
can was generally in a hurry, and he
always had lots of money. He
guides at generous American rates, and
put big comm!.- ions into their pockets
by buying nil sorts of souvenirs u stores
which they indicated. But this time the
Ameilcvns have not merely come for a
few days' stay during a hasty scramble
through Europe. They are going to o ay
a month, two mouths, the whole exposi
tion season. And the national love of do
ing things oneself comes uppermost. The
Amt i lean bi ut hen tuidt stray and
blunders leisurely round the city and its
phows. with his I’. iedeiker and Ids Con
versational Manual for his only assistants.
So the guide:*, when they s. e the white
hat* Divl IlKlii titling irons, is, make II
lie effort in do hu-ross. 'l'hi y probably
I 111 11k, In common with n i.irgn pari of
Ihe French nation, that tin* Americans
ore all ruined liy tin war with Bp.r.n, end
tire doing 'their own guiding ftom motives
ot economy.
Our (frowliiK Intercat in Art.
In the picture galleries and museums
our country folk art' gaining n reputation
for an interest in tire. which non unsus
peeted hi tlierti of old. In former y. ns
they hod n way of horrifying staid fre
nuenters of tlie l.tuvio and the l.uxem
tiourg. by rushing In at breakneck speed,
eeofnpaiilc<i by their guides, tearing
through the rooms with one eye on each
line of pictures, stopping only for a few
moment* opposite some lour or flva of the
[ most famous works. But this year Amer
-1 ioanw are taking their time. The gal
i lerles are full of them all day long, and
. they spend hours making careful studtaa
| of the art treasure® collected in the%
! priceless repositories It used to be
thought by the guardians of the art pal
aces that the Americans came only to
choose pictures to be reprodutjed for
advertisements of canned beef or dry
goods. Now it is seen that they reajiy
care for and understand art. Sometimes
their minute questions disturb the peace
of the men in charge, who generally show
an incompetence*, and lack of intelligence
ihat would prevent a man getting a street
cleaner’s job in an American city.
The influx of trans-Atlantic visitors has
been so great that in several quarters of
Paris one might imagine himself, a* pa
rade time, to bo on Fifth avenue. The
beautiful and aristocratic quarter of the
Parc Monccau lias becomo almost like an
American city. From the beginning it
was built on the Afnerican plan, with
magnificent mansions like those tha* have
arisen of late years along Riverside Drive,
in New York. Everything is American
electric bells, electric lights, rapid eleva
tors. Even the hall porters are designed
on the American system—and a smart,
well-groomed American hall porter with
all his faults, is a very agreeable substi
tute for the unspeakably scrubby, be
nighted and generally insolent 3’arislan
concierge. Americans with well-lined
in Vain the Conductor Explains.
pockets were quick to discover the Parc
Moneeau, and now you hear all over the
neighborhood a great deal more of “Amer
ican” than of any other language. The
trades-people are rejoicing. Never did
they let out more horses and carriages
and automobiles, and never did they ca
ter for more splendid banquets. Half of
them will be setting up automobiles for
their own pleasure next year as the di
rect result of this year’s lavish outpour
ing of American money.
At the cafes and “Anglisch and Ameri
ca.in bars,” which have sprung up over
the city, and where you see painted as
surances that “they spocken Anglisch,”
shrewd Hermans und Italians are draw
ing double the usual waiters’ salaries, be
cause they know how to say “Yes! Good
morning, mlk>r. Yes! You have coak
tahee?” It is hardly necessary to say
that “coak-tahee” means cocktail. De
spite the many warnings our countrymen
have had against “American liars,” these
institutions are prospering enormously.
Willing .anil Able to I’nj the Price.
Parisian cabbies welcome Americans
with a special smile. For Americans are
probably the only people on the earth who
find nothing extraordinary in the high
fares the Jehus are extorting this exposi
tion season. Parisians have almost given
up taking cabs, since they would certain
ly have to light if they offered the ordi
nary fare of :0 cents for u “course.” or
4) cents per hour. Americans, used to
other standards, accept the cabbies' most
imaginative terms as quite natural, consid
ering them cheap rather than otherwise.
Possibly, though, there might be trouble,
if a spirited American were to catch the
parting wink which the Jehu frequently
throws in his customer’s direction after
pocketing the fair.
Inside the great show the American per
vades everything. You find him in every
side show, spending his money freely, hut
expressing Ids opinion freely, too, when,
as sometimes happens, he thinks lie
hasn’t got his money’s worth. He is the
terror of the petty officialism which com
mands so much respect in France, ills
independent spirit has led to a good many
laughable scenes in the exposition grounds,
the men clothed in a little brief authority
holding out for* the observance of petty
rules invented, apparently, out of a sheer
spirit of contradictoriness, the American
in the wildest French imaginable trying to
get a substantial reason for the regula
tion. The French people themselves
never dream of disputing the
liat of a policemen or even
of a responsible looking man with a hood;
but their laughing applause frequently
encouraged rebellious trangers in their
efforts to storm a forbidden gate or take
a tempting, barred off short cut. It is
the same epirlt. by the way, displayed
much more freely in Paris than in Amer.
ion, that mikes it Impossible to make
ti e average truns-Atlantic visitor under
Idond that he is not at liberty to lioar.l !
i street ear Just whenever he feels like
it. He does not see the sense of stand- |
ing at the corner of the block with his
"number” hi Ids hand ami waiting some
times half an hour for his turn. He Just
Jumps on when the ear cornea up. In
vain the agitated conductor explains that
he must wait his turn or that all the seots
ate occupied. All right, he’d Just as soon
stand. The conductors, horribly shocked
tty to make the cool Intruder understand
that It was never known ftom the be
ginning of the world that a ear built r.,r
forty people, should be made to hold forty,
one Generally, the American stands Ills
ground; sometime* he Is put oft by force.
In cither case the natives have a very
good time and tell each other that "cos
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, JUNE 17. 1900.
Yank-ees" are the most extraordinary
people on the face of the earth.
We Keep Our A inbiinxiidor Bny.
It seems likely that before the closing
, of the exposition the United States em
bassy will have to do a good deal of Inter
! vetting on behalf of American ci'izens
who have got themselves into trouble
I through their inability to master the in
tricacies of French custom. A Ire id y the
embassy is kept very busy attending o
the large daily crowds of callers. Some of
these come out of mere curiosity to so®
how the nation is housed In France. Oth
ers are in quest of all .sorts of informa
tion. sometimes of a kind which, to he
carefully concealed disgust of the polite
officials, could just as easily obtained
from a hotel clerk or a directory. Others
come in all good faith and patriotism to
pay their respects to the Stars and Strip s
on little bit of United States territory. As
a matter of fact, it is wortli while n:ting.
a good citizen of the United State? has
not far io go to find an opportunity • f
taking off his hat to the flag. Paris is all
aflutter with bunting in honor of ihe ex
position, and of all the flags of foreign
nations absolutely none is more in evi
dence than the Stars and Stripes.
if ft were not for the Anglo-Boer war
the Union Jack would probably run the
Star Spangled Banner pretty cloee; bfit
as things are we knock the Britishers out
all the time. Many of the main thorough
fares give a genuine Fourth of July ef
fect. This is not only where there hap
pen to be established som3 of the bg
American insurance companies or machin
ery firms which are making auch head
way in the French capital. The American
flags are hung out by all the big French
firms, too; a delicate recognition of the
fact that the good American dollar Is a
substantial item in the prosperity of iho
city.
One curious remark has been made by
observers of the exposition crowds. It is
that Americans seem to have so far
brought w-ith them fewer children than
any other people. The English drag wag
onloads of boys rind girls about with them
wherever they go, und little dark-eyed
Batin foreigners are very conspicuous
everywhere, but It is rare to see small
Americans in the wake of their elders.
Jocose French people explain*the curious
fnot by the supposition that there arc not
any children in the United States; that
Americans, who do everything else so
much more quickly than the other na
tions, gel through their growing up also
at the same unheard-of rale. Perhaps
the true explanation would be worth
looking for.
Our Workingmen In Evidence.
It must not be thought that it is only
rich Americans who are here for the ex
position. Of course, a considerable num
ber of American workingmen have been
in the city for some time—many of them
for more than a year—engaged in various
ways about the exposition buildings, put
ting up machinery for their employers
or working like hosts of other foreigners
at whatever kind of work they could get.
A colored man, who left New York eight
een months ago in a spirit of adventure,
determined to see the exposition or die
in the attempt, got work at once ns a
kind of general handy man at a good sal
ary He has learned to speak French
quite fluently, and will get himself nat
uralized as a French subject as soon ns
the law f>ertnis. He says that a colored
man in New’ York it “Just a black nig
ger.” while here, on account of the
French African colonies, the people treat
lilni with great respect, and, if he likes,
he car make them believe that tie Is the
son of a dispossessed native chief.
Blit, besides those who have been en
gaged on the great show, there are
American workingmen here who have
Just come over to enjoy themselves un
til they have spent all their money.
And, despite all that Is said about the
rise in prices, they do not tint it too
hard to "make out." A group of four
workingmen from iJenver arrived a week
ago, and the other day they were tell
ing at one of the United States sub
stations In the exposition how they
managed. They had been saving for
more than a year to spend a month In
Fails. When they arrived they found It
Impossible to get hot-l accommodation
within their means up to the home stan
dard. But they were sharp enough to re
flect that probably unfurnished apart
ments had not gone cp so much In price
They found, Just twenty minutes' walk
from the exposition gates, a "log. ment"
of three large, airy rooms, wl h a kitchen.
In the sixth story of a stylish house. Ac
cording to the Paris fashion, they were
obliged to take It for a minimum of three
months. The prlee was 150 francs, or $.lO.
They bought the strict necessaries of
furniture for $-’5. Total result, they are
well enough lodgrd-as well as hundreds
of students-for three mcn'lhs at Ihe rod
of ss.'i in all. or about sl3 per matt Not
bad for strangers in Paris in exposition
tlmas-evin though they are only stay
ing a month,
Things have gone up In consequence of
Ihe exposition, of course, but even now,
with a little gumption, a man can live
more cheaply In Paris than on the same
scale In the average American city.
There Is not a single restaurant In Pa’ls
where a man Is obliged to spend for hi
dinner anything like the sunt he must
rccessarly disburse at Sherry’s or the
Waldorf-Astoria. The prices that horrify
l’.uropeans seem reasonable enough to
the average American.
Stephen Mac Kenna.
HUS CUUBBUCK'S
iEIGRRT.
By SI SAN BROWN BOBBINS.
A man often has to try several different
kinds of he finds his true vo
cation. Such was the case with Alpheus
Chubbuck.
First he tried farming, then he bought
a small grocery store, and after the fail
ure of this business enterprise he failed
in various other attempts to earn a liv
ing.
Finally he tried matrimony and settled
down with a comfortable feeling that now
at last he had found just the right place
for himself.
His wife was comfortably well to do.
fihe was a shrewd business manager and
she kept a Arm hold on her purse strings.
Alpheus was well fed and neatly dressed,
and his wife allowed dhirn >4 a month for
spending money.
At first he used to spend every cent of
his money within ten days of the first
month, but as he found that Mrs. Alpheua
could not be induced to lend or give him
any more, he 6<>on learned to make the
money hold out so that even on the last
day of the month he would have a little
change which he could jingle in his pocket,
lie grew stout and prosperous looking.
His wife took great pride in her little
village home and its trim yard. iShe cared
for the flower garden, but it was the duty
of Alpheus to hoe the vegetables and mow
the lawn.
He did this under protest. He had to
They Spot Americans Every Time In Paris.
bo asked many times and perhaps be
threatened with a reduced allowance be
fore the work would be satisfactorily done.
In a year from the time of his marriage
he had the distinction of being known as
the laziest man in town.
it is said that Satan finds tiome mischief
still for idle hands 10 do. Whoever fur
nished it, mischeif was certainly done by
Alpheus Chubbuck. Not by his hands, to
be exact, but by his lively imagination
and his active tongue.
There was a fair prospect that to his
other reputation would be added that of
being the greatest gossip in town.
By gentle ridicule, sly insinuation and
the repeating of things i>eople said, he
soon had the whole town unsettled. Old
family feuds were revived, new ones start
ed, while half the people would not speak
to the other half.
One day, it was the first of April, Mrs.
Alpheus heard a strange sound in the
yard. Bho went to the window and fbw
a clattering, rickety* dingy hen-cart drawn
by a raw-boned sorrel horse. On the
sent of the cart sat her husband and an
other man, a shabby, slouching, dispu
table looking man. Both jumped to the
ground when the cart came to a stop In
the tniddJe of the side yard, and with ap
parent haste unharnessed the horse.
Then Alpheus took out his pooketbook
and gave the man some money. The man
swung himself on the horse’s back and
with hia legs dangling against her sides
ambled out of the yard and down the
street.
“Well of all things! said Mrs. Alpheus
and she went out o make inquires.
“I tn going into the hen business” said
Alpheus. “And just think. Loizy, I
bought that cart for three dollars!” k
“And got cheated, too,” she said sharp
ly. “But then it’s your own money,”
she added.
“Yes, and I’ve got a dollar left to fix
It up with.”
"A dollar!” she said contemptuously.
"How far will that go? It won’t set the
tires, to say nothing of painting it and
tixing the broken doors.”
"Oh. well." said Alpheus easily, "I
shall have some more money next month
and I'll do all I can on it myself.”
For more than two montha Alpheus was
missed from his old haunts and the rela
tions of the villages became less strained.
One pair of lovers after another became
reconciled, and a number of the family
feuds were ns If they had never been.
All this time Alpheus was at work on
his hen-cart, and people began to drop
In to look at il.
“Ive got It Just about In condition to
paint,” he would say proudly, "It’s taken
me a good while to get It ready, but I
believe that if anything Is worth doing
at all, it is worth doing well, and my wife
will tell you that it was a pretty hard
looking old trap when I got it. You see,
It’s fixed up pretty nice now. Of course,
it won't show how much I've done to it
till after It is painted. I had the tires
ret, and that broken shaft mended, and
two new spokes and a part of a rim in
that hind wheel. I’ve scraped and sand
papered It anti put new snaps on all the
doors—why they were fastened with
clothespins when I got it and I've fixed
a little railing around tlie top, so I can
carry things there if I want to, and I've
got hinges on the seat and you see there
is a l>ox under It where I can carry my
dinner, and I've put up that frame for
an awning so I won't get sunstruok."
"When are you going to start Into busi
ness?"
"Oh. I don't know; time enough for
that when I get my cart finished.”
In due time the curt Was painted. Hut
now. Instead of going into the hen busl- ,
ness, Alpheus began again to loaf about
the grocery store and to resume his old
habits. When he went home at noon he
would look proudly at his hen cart, and
he always smoked his after-dinner pepe
and read his evening paper in the shade
of its striped awning.
Arthur Wade was walking home from
hia lady-love’s house one evening in July.
He was one of the lovers who had been
estranged by Alpheus the previous spring.
To-night he was gloomy and morose. Al
ice had shown a marked coldness that
evening and he remembered how their
former trouble began in just that way.
“He's up to hia old tricks again,” Arthur
muttered as he came opposite the Chuck
buck cottage. He frowned darkly at it
and at the hen-cart that showed plainly
in the moonlight.
He walked up to the next corner W’here
he stopped suddenly. He turned about
and retra'ided his steps and for a long
time he stood looking at the pink and
green hen-cart.
“I’ll do it,” he said at length. "Yes.
I’ll do It the very first cloudy night,” and
with that he walked briskly away.
It was aevorail mornings later that
when Alpheus. us v as his habit, went to
the dining room window' to look out *at
his hen-cart, he gave a start of surprise
and exclaimed, “What in thunder!” Then
he snatched up his hat and ran out into
the yard.
There stood a rickety, dilapidated hen
cart. Alpheus looked at it blankly, then
his eye caught sight of an envelope- tack
ed to the side. On It was written the one
word “Boot.” With trembling fingers he
tore it open and drew forth a five-dollur
bill.
When he went in to breakfast his eyes
were sparkling. “It’s w'orse than the oth
er one.” he said enthusiastically, “and the
wheels are dished like pie plates. The
color of tho other one. did not just suit
me,” he said after a pause. “I think I’ll
paint this one yellow and purple, and It
won’t take me so long us it did before,
cither.”
Just before the last coat of purple paint
was dry, Arthur Wade and Alice wore
safely married.
SUSAN BROWN ROBBINS.
lie Strange inf
tiief fl. weiniL
Ills Remarkable Manner of Visiting
the Pari* Exposition.
By rmm.F.s battbll iaomb.
(Copyright, 1900, by C. B. Loomis.)
Alexander A. Alexander was his full
name. What the middle A. stcod for no
one knew, but many thought that ii
be Alexander for they said that a parent
who was foolish enough to double his son’s
name would be as likely to treble if.
Those who knew the boy well enough call
ed him by his first name, but strangers
generally called! him by his last name
I M ' \\
until they got better acquainted. Alexan
der looked like a Russian, and he had as
imperious a nature as that of any czar
that ever lived. Before he was twelve
years old there was no one able to cross
him. If he had been wicked or even ill
tempered he could have made it unpleas
ant for the world in which he lived—
which was this world, by the way—but
despite his power over people he seldom
exercised it unduly, and so it was possible
to live in his vicinity and enjoy life.
Once in a while he exercised his power
for the good of the public. Almost every
body has heard of the strike of the pain
ters of Paulton. Some of them were por
trait painters and some were landscapists,
and they were all in the employ of a
very rich art patron. They ma le up their
minds one day that he could alford to pay
Ihcm more than they were getting, aid so
they struck for higher wages, of eourio
they had a right to strike, although i
dare say that they receiving all they
were worth, as many of them used sten
cils ill painting portraits in order to save
lime. But they had no right to alop other
painters from working, as this has bee i
a free country since lSli.',. And yet I'lqi
Is what they did. They told ihe rew pain
ters that they would upset their palls of
paint and destroy their brushes if they
attempted to paint any portraits or lard
erapes in Paulton. And then It was that
’Alexander used his authority with good
effect. He went to where the land of
striking ixilnters had assembled. They
stood around In their blouses with their
long hair waving in tit” wind, and hi
s.tid: "Bay. painters, if yon want to strike
you'll have to do it in shi, .t ,town
than Taulson. I always h v v wv ,
and you've got to go."
And go they did. They walked off In
a body down to the railroad motion and
look train to New York. And non- they
•r glad to work at any price. And th
other painters were so grateful to Alex
ander that they all united in doing a
crayon portrait of him for him and ho
didn’t have to pay for the frame—which
Is very unusual.
Alexander wanted to go to the Paris
Exposition, hut he knew that his father
could not afford to send him. If he
had told Mr. Alexander to do it that man
would have been impelled to do it by the
bey's strange power, but Alexander knew
that his father was a poor man, so he
determined to get there by some other
means*. And right there he made his first
mistake, to call it nothing worse. He
ought to have made up his mind to do
without going to the exposition as so
many boys will have to do. Bu* that
would not have been like Alexander.
What he wanted he must have.
So one evening after his parents were
asleep he stole into their bedroom and
kiesed them both affectionately, and then
he left the house and made his way to
the station. He had packed a few clothes
in a hand satchel and he had taken all
his savings for three years, which
amounted to sixty dollars. He took the
midnight train for New York and dis
patched from there an affectionate letter
telling his parents that he was going to
the fair and that he would bring them
each a pretty present.
By noon of next day he was sailing out
of New York harbor on the Bucolic of
the Red Crescent line.
Long before they were out of sight of
land he had made friends with several
of the passengers, and he would need
them, too, for the inexperienced boy had
neglected to procure a stateroom, sup
posing that a day would auffloe to take
him to France. One of his new acquaint
ances was the Bishop of—well. I can’t
think now. but he was a splendid big man
and fond of children, so that he and
Alexander go£ along famously, although
Alexander was a Congregationalism
.“Well, where are you going all by your
self?” paid he. "To visit an uncle in
Southampton?’*
“No, sir.” said Alexander. *T have no
relatives in France.”
“Not that Southampton Is in France,”
said the Bishop, laughing.
“Oh. isn’t it? Well, I'm going to the
World’s Fair in Paris, and that’s in
France.”
The Bishop smiled. “Yes. Paris 1s in
France, but you can’t go straight to it;
you’ll have to stop at Southampton and
take another steamer across the channel
to Havre and then take train to Paris.”
Alexander was vexed and he showed it.
‘‘Can’t I go all the way to Pnri* £y
water?”
"AH the way by water, but not in a
steamer of this size. You should have
taken a French liner if you wished to go
direct to France.”
Alexander was tempted to use his p*>w
er, and I’m sorry to say that he yielded.
It would have been so much better if h
bod swallowed his* chagrin and gone to
Southampton with a good bishop and then
crossed the. channel. But. no, he had set
out to sail to France, and he was going
to do it no matter how much he put out
the rest of the passengers.
"How Do You Say It In French?”
"I'm sorry, but this steamer has got to
take me to France. Are you sure that
she can't sail directly to Paris?”
“Not unless you deepend the Seine.”
"Oh, I don't want to do that,” said Alex
ander, quite as if he could, and the Bishop
was much amused.
"But tell me, if you've made a mis
take about the steamer, what are you go
ing to do aboutva stateroom?”
“A what?” asked Alexander, with a puz
zled expression.
"A stateroom. A place to live In and
sleep while you're on your way to South
ampton.”
"I'm not going to Southampton,” said
Alexander, with heut. “Why does it take
over night to get to France?”
"My dear boy, we ll be the best part
of six days making the trip, and you
won’t be allowed to sleep on the deck
or in the saloon.”
"I should hope I wouldn’t sleep in a
"Go Tell th Captain I Want Him.”
j saloon," said Alexander with and gnltv
"Of course not," said the Hlshop with
a straight face “Now, 1 have a whole
stateroom anti you may use the upper
berth, and welcome, If you wish." PP
"Why, thank you, sir. I'll be glad to
but I had no idea that It took so long
lou sec. I had the nuasles when
class had Ihe Atlantic ocean, ami I had
the mumps whet, we had France, , nd R o
1 don t know much about that pan of
fe'COKm uhy. *
"Well, you'll know more htfore vou re
: are,?" yoWr p "‘ ntH know whera you
r ‘ th ? y do Ia note But
* *0 Fnglund. The ship wUI
hate to let me out at France.” V
A steward happened to be nasslne
•Here" said Alexander. In hUmost
iceratic manner. “Bend the cantaln to
The s.rwutd looked astonished, lmt |,e
ob yeti. 11l a minute he came back "The
crptai:. says if.s on; of the question
\ou must KO to him.”
I At this Alexander flushed scarlet He
° f h ! 8 han '’*
out. captain, I want you to come here
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at once. I want to speak to you.”
Everybody within earshot gasped for
breath, for the captain was one of the
hottest tempered and one of the most
dignified men on the Red Crscent line
But they gasped again when he left the
bridge and came to Alexander, quite as
if it was the most ordinary thing in th
world for a boy to call him down.
"What do you want, young man?” said
he in an amiable tone.
The Bishop, who had expected to see
Alexander thrown Into the sea, heaved a
sigh of relief and opened his eyes as wide
as he could, for he expected to be aston
ished for the neutt few minutes, and he
wanted to be prepared.
"I want to go to Paris directly, but they
tell me it is physically impossible, so r
want you to let me out at Havre I've
made a mistake in the steamer. Just let
me out at Havre; that's all.”
"All right,” said the captain. ‘‘l feel
lhat I am putty in your hands. Bui [
am likely to lose my position if I do it."
"Not if I see your bosses, whoever they
are," said Alexander, 'simply. "You'il be
pleased to know that Bishop Dunham has
offered m“ his upper bertrh."
"Pleased, but not astonished. If you
hold up all the passengers I won t he at
all surprised.”
Alexander flushed. “I am as honest as
you are. Don't let me keep you from
your duties. Tell the man that runs the
rudder to change our course before you
forget it, or we may go to Southampton
after ail.”
The Bishop expected trouble from the
passengers. Eor himself, as he was only
going for the sea voyage, it did hot make
so much difference to him, but he looked
to seo the rest of the passengers make a
great to do. But in this he was mistak
en. The news quickly spread throughout
the steamer, and in about a half an hour
the passengers assembled and gave three
ringing cheers for Alexander.
"What’s that for?" asked the boy of
the bishop.
“Why, it seems that you have inadvert
ently done them a favor. They were ell
going to the exposition, and none of them
was able to get passage on the French
lines, and you have saved them at least
a day.”
After that Alexander was a greaf favor
ite with ail on hoard. Even the Captain
felt that a boy with such a wonderful will
could make it right for him and as he
was the only one responsible to the agents,
the rest of the crew did not care at all.
They were glad of a change in the route.
But the Captain had forgotten one thing,
and that was that to him the. route to
Havre was a strange one. That is why,
k a noon, on the sixth day out, there was
a terrific shock that told every one that
the ship had struck something.
All was confusion in an instant. Pas
sengers shrieking, sailors commanding
coolness, and the Captain, as pale as
death, but perfectly calm.
Alexander and the Bishop rushed from
the stateroom together. The boy kept on
until he had reached the bridge where the
Captain was standing.
“Boy. this is your fault. Can you make
this right with my 'bosses,' as you call
them? We are surely lost.”
Alexander hung his head. For a min
ute he was utterly cast down and fully
realized that he was to blame for the aw-
disaster. For it was plain that the
ship could not keep afloat a half hour.
A large French steamer, the Ville do
Dreyfus, hove in sight. She was just
large enough to save tho crew and pas
sengers of (ho Bucolic. But she contin
ued on her way. A groan went up from
the Bucolic’s passengers. The Captain
straightened his shoulders and prepared
to accept dedth like an English sailor.
Alexander felt that on him lav the re
sponsibility for the affair. He seized a
speaking trumpet that happened to b#
handy and yelled: “Come and save up!”
The French captain heard him and rec
ognized the authority of the tones, hut
did not understand what was said. H
continued to sail away.
"Say it in French.” said the bishop.
( , is it. French?” said Alexander.
”1 don't know a word, but 'oui' and ‘non.’
"I don’t know much nlyself, but 1 think
it is 'Venez, ( t nous sauvons.' "
Alexander had a quick ear, and with-
out kno win# what the words meant by
themselves, he shouted what the bishop
had told him.
It must have been a villainous accent,
and bad French, too. but the imperlors
tones had iheir due effect, and the French
man hove lo end rescued the passengers
and the crew of the doomed Bucolic and
not a moment too soon. As the bishop
and Alexander and ihe brave captain step
ped aboard ihe Villa de Dreyfus ihd
Bucolic went from the sight of the mor
tal mon forever.
Alexander learned more French befo-e
he returned to America, hut he never sail
anything half h effective as those four
words. He did not have to make it iuht
with the captain’s losses, for the capta n
who was ah elderly •man, resigned and
went to llv© at Portsmouth. Alexau er
and Bishop Dunham went to the exposi: on
together, and' the boy sent home in n let
ter to his parents a beautifully
resolution from the Bucolic's passengers
praising him for saving, first a day In the
voyage, and then the rest of their lives,
good came of evil after all. Bui it nev* r
does to hank on il.
—Sir Richard "Webster, the new Eng
lish Master of Rolls In succession to Sir
Nathaniel Ldndtuiy, was born in 1842. and
is the second son of Thomas Webster,
the famous lawyer. He Is a Charterhous*’
alumnus and has been Attorney General
three times.
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Kilter any time. Open for both sexes.
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