One evening in May, 1888, the Café des Écoles was even more crowded and morenoisy than usual. The marble-topped tables were wet with beer and the din wasappalling. Someone shouted to make himself heard.
“Any more news from the Salon?”
“Yes,” said Elliott, “Thaxton’s in with a number three. Rhodes is out and takesit hard. Clifford’s out too, and takes it—”
A voice began to chant:
Je n’sais comment faire,
Comment concillier
Ma maitresse et mon père,
Le Code et Bullier.
“Drop it! Oh, drop it!” growled Rhodes, and sent a handful of billiard chalk atthe singer.
Mr Clifford returned a volley of the Café spoons, and continued:
Mais c’que je trouve de plus bête,
C’est qu’ i’ faut financer
Avec ma belle galette,
J’aimerai mieux m’amuser.
Several other voices took up the refrain, lamenting the difficulty ofreconciling their filial duties with balls at Bullier’s, and protesting thatthey would rather amuse themselves than consider financial questions. Rhodessipped his curaçoa sulkily.
“The longer I live in the Latin Quarter,” he said to his neighbor, “the lesscertain I feel about a place of future punishment. It would be so tame afterthis.” Then, reverting to his grievance, he added, “The slaughter this year atthe Salon is awful.”
Reginald Gethryn stirred nervously but did not speak.
“Have a game, Rex?” called Clifford, waving a cue.
Gethryn shook his head, and reaching for a soiled copy of the Figaro,glanced listlessly over its contents. He sighed and turned his paperimpatiently. Rhodes echoed the sigh.
“What’s at the theaters?”
“Same as last week, excepting at the Gaieté. They’ve put on ‘La Belle Hélène’there.”
“Oh! Belle Hélène!” cried Clifford.
Tzing! la! la! Tzing! la! la!
C’est avec ces dames qu’ Oreste
Fait danser l’argent de Papa!
Rhodes began to growl again.
“I shouldn’t think you’d feel like gibbering that rot tonight.”
Clifford smiled sweetly and patted him on the head. “Tzing! la! la! My shot,Elliott?”
“Tzing! la! la!” laughed Thaxton, “That’s Clifford’s