Poverty has its uses, though, desirable as it is, I find I can get on with a very little of it. I firmly believe that in time I could accustom myself to riches, and really enjoy myself. But it may never be.
Madame, the faro bankeress, is at the same hotel with us, and is getting on famously in French. This morning at breakfast—she calls it “dejuner”—much to the waiter’s astonishment, she ordered “café o’lay—with milk,” and at dinner, “frozen champagne glace,” never knowing, poor woman, that café au lait means, simply, coffee with milk, and champagne glacé is simply chilled champagne. But it did nobody else any harm except the waiter, and it pleased her. She remarked to the other lady that she was sure she would have no trouble in getting along—which she would not, as the waiter, being an Englishman, could understand even her English, except when she plunged too much into French.
“Have you been to the Louvre?” asked the other lady, or the lady, to be accurate.
“Oh, no, not yet. I have no doubt it is altogether too sweet for anything, but I have not had time. I dote on art. But I have found a new place where you can get such lovely laces, for almost nothing, and another where silk hosiery can be had for less than half what you have to pay in New York. And I bought such a lovely dress for Lulu, a pearl silk, with such a lovely waist, and an embroidered front, with roses embroidered in the skirt. It is just like the one she wore at the children’s ball, at Mrs. Thompson’s, last Winter, which cost me more than twice what this one did and wasn’t half so nice. But Lulu looked altogether too sweet for anything in that, though, and everybody at the ball was in perfect rapture over her. And then I bought a sweet suit for little Alfred, my youngest child, nine years old. It is such a perfectly sweet little pair of pants with a waist that buttons on just lovely, and with red stockings and purple shoes he will be altogether too sweet for anything. They will fit, for I have the measure of both the children with me. I have found out that when one travels to see nature and things, one ought always to be prepared. That’s why I brought their measure with me.”
At this point the husband of the other lady, who could not help hearing all this, as he had for many weary days, told me an anecdote like this:—
“A young man with a very bad voice, but who firmly and steadfastly believed that in the article of voice he was the superior of Brignoli, engaged a teacher to give him lessons. When asked how he liked his teacher his reply was that he was a good master, but he was altogether too religious for him.
“How too religious?”
“Why, while I am practicing, he walks up and down the room wringing his hands and praying.”
“What is his prayer? What does he pray about?”
THE STRATEGY OF TIBBITS.