"'If he's an Irishman,' I says, 'I never met him; but if it's a kind of pastry I'll try some.'
"Then he shows me a doorway through which they was all entering, and beside it was a big yellow poster which said, 'Mi-Carême. Grand Bal Costume. Cavaliers, 2 francs. Dames, 1 franc 50 centimes.'
"'I'd love to be a cavalier at two francs a time,' I remarks. 'Besides, I want to make the farther acquaintance of little Perfume of Pineapple Essence who passed by just now.'
"'It will be necessary to 'ave a costume, M'sieur,' says Don Rodrigo.
"'Trust me,' I answers with dignity; 'I've won diplomas as a fancy-dress architect.'
"I goes to my billet and investigates the personal effects of my colleagues. My choice fell on a Cameron kilt, a football jersey and a shrapnel helmet. These I puts into a bundle an' hikes back to the Hall of Dance.
"'May I ask what M'sieur represents?' said the doorkeeper as I paid my two francs.
"'I haven't started yet,' I answers asperiously. 'I assumes my costume as APPIUS CLAUDIUS in the dressing-room.'
"Well, when I'd finished my toilette—regrettin' the while that I hadn't brought a pair of spurs to complete the costume—I entered the ball-room. It was a scene of East-end—I mean Eastern—splendour. Carmens an' Father Timeses, Pierrots an' Pierrettes, Pompadours an' Apaches was gyrating to the soft strains of the orchestra, who perspired at the piano in his shirt-sleeves.
"All of a sudden I saw my little Geisha, my Stick of Scented Brilliantine, waltzing with the Toreador, an' my heart started beating holes in my football jersey. When the orchestra stopped playing to light a cigarette I sought her out.