"Walk in, messieurs, mesdames; you will see what you will see. Buy your tickets! if you are not satisfied, you'll get your money back."
"The devil take you!" muttered Tobie, as he left the room. "I am not at all satisfied; I have spent money recklessly to-day, and I shan't get it back!"
VIII
THE WINE SHOP.—SCENES AMONG THE COMMON PEOPLE
On the first floor of a wine shop on Rue Saint-Lazare was a room containing several tables; the room was reached by a staircase, which started from the shop itself and ended almost in the middle of the room in question, which was frequented by drinkers who desired to be more at their ease than was possible below.
The room was ordinarily occupied by workmen, loafers, and an occasional peddler. The workmen, after a laborious day, came to the wine shop to take a modest meal and to rest their tired limbs; the others, after idling the greater part of the day, came thither to spend a large part of the night in the same occupation.
Those who had done no work, and consequently had earned nothing, generally spent the most money. Economy is almost always the companion of toil; dissipation, of idleness.
A journeyman mason sat at one of the tables, eating with evident enjoyment a piece of cheese, washed down with a mug of wine; the tempting invitations of his comrades were powerless to induce him to spend another sou, for he was determined to save money and not remain a mere journeyman all his days.
Near by sat a carpenter, with a red nose, bloated face, and eyes blinking with the vapors of wine; he had already emptied several bottles, and, instead of going home to his waiting family, was all ready to drink some more, inviting his acquaintances and even strangers to join him, in order to find an excuse for further tippling, aye, to spend the last sou of the wages he had just received, and for which his wife was waiting in order to buy bread for their children.
At another table was a man about fifty years of age, with gray hair and enormous whiskers, whose costume indicated no special profession. His chin was buried in a piece of ticking, which served him as a cravat; he wore a coat, but it was torn and patched and much too short for him; trousers whose color was no longer distinguishable, fastened behind with strings instead of buckles. On his head was a round hat, if the name can properly be given to a piece of felt torn in several places, and with only a few small fragments of brim. But all this did not prevent the individual in question from carrying his head erect, scrutinizing everybody who came in, drumming on the table with his knife by way of accompaniment to the songs he sang under his breath, and, in a word, making as much noise as many parties produced, although his repast consisted of only a glass of beer and a piece of bread.
Among the tables surrounded by customers, there was one at which a supper was being served that aroused the envy of most of the other occupants of the room: it was the table occupied by Sans-Cravate, his mistress, and the other two messengers.