But the man from Denver, the “Steel King,” and the two thinner gentlemen with the louis-lined waistcoats who accompanied him and whom Fortune had awakened in the far West one morning and had led them to “The Great Red Star copper mine”—a find which had ever since been a source of endless amusement to them—discovered the Quarter before they had been in Paris a day, and found it, too, “the best ever,” as they expressed it.
They did not remain long in Paris, this rare crowd of seasoned genials, for it was their first trip abroad and they had to see Switzerland and Vienna, and the Rhine; but while they stayed they had a good time Every Minute.
The man from Denver and the Steel King sat at one of the small tables, leaning over the railing at the “Bal Bullier,” gazing at the sea of dancers.
“Billy,” said the man from Denver to the Steel King, “if they had this in Chicago they’d tear out the posts inside of fifteen minutes”—he wiped the perspiration from his broad forehead and pushed his twenty-dollar Panama on the back of his head.
“Ain’t it a sight!” he mused, clinching the butt of his perfecto between his teeth. “Say!—say! it beats all I ever see,” and he chuckled to himself, his round, genial face, with its double chin, wreathed in smiles.
“Say, George!” he called to one of the ‘copper twins,’ “did you get on to that little one in black that just went by—well! well!! well!!! In a minute!!”
Already the pile of saucers on their table reached a foot high—a record of refreshments for every Yvonne and Marcelle that had stopped in passing. Two girls approach.
“Certainly, sit right down,” cried the Steel King. “Here, Jack,”—this to the aged garçon, “smoke up! and ask the ladies what they’ll have”—all of which was unintelligible to the two little Parisiennes and the garçon, but quite clear in meaning to all three.
“Dis donc, garçon!” interrupted the taller of the two girls, “un café glacé pour moi.”
“Et moi,” answered her companion gayly, “Je prends une limonade!”