The Washington times., 1894-12-03
Rt th6 Gaf6 MaZarin.

Certainly nothing like the artist s dinner
had ever taken place in the Mazarin before
during the whole of its course. 1t was held
on Thanksgiving evening, and Pierre, the
least easily moved waiter of all the tribe OF
walters, had not yet ceased to shrug his ex-
pressive shoulders and to cast up his express
sive eyes at every mention of it.
"Zese Americainer' Pierre calculated at
least once day by way of comment on that
strange banquet.
The night before Thanksgiving the long
limbed artist and madame, his wife, had signi-
fed their intention OF giving a dinner party
the next evening.
"There will be six guests. Pierre, the host
had remarked.
"Oui. Monsieur" agreed Pierre, making a
note OF the fact. AN you want re little room,
is it noti"
YES. Pierre" Madame had interrupted,
"and we want a most beautiful dinner"
"Oh, oui oui, Madame" answered Pierre,
volubly. ''Consomme la Refine and"
Nothing of the sort Monster inter
rupted, with characteristic impeluouslty.
1--WE want a turkey, Pierre, and bouncing
one, too"
Pierre's face fell.
"Oui, Monsieur" he said, dolefully.
yes" continued Monsieur, and squash.
We want SQUASH don't We, Hester? And baked
sweet potatoes and corn succotash, by Joye,
Pierre. Wen have succotash and turnips and
cranberry SUBSCRIPTIONS OF it..
Pierre groaned aloud, but said nothing. He
felt that it would be incongruOus TO suggest
sweetbreads and partridge to a man so lost to
the fine art of eating as TO order this typical
American repast
And pumpkin pie-an inch thick." con-
tinued the giver of the feast. "Nes, and
mince! And-and-can you think Of anything
else, Hester?"
Cucumber pickles." replied Hester.
The unfortunate Pierre was obliged to do
violence 10 his feelings by ordering this ban
quet for the eccentric Americans and by serv-
ing il in the little room off the big dining
room the next evening. He thinks now that
he will never forget the appearance of that
Thanksgiving party as it fled into the MAJ
arin. First there was Monsieur, resplen dent
in evening clothes; Madame's golden hair
cleaned in delicate contrast to her black
gown, which the well-trained eye of the
French Pierre recognized as a CONNECTION, :"
| Then came stout o.d lady. whose Hlbernian
extraction was written all over her good-na-
| tured face and was further attested by her
/ green plaid shawl. She was Madames washer
/ Woman-a blanchiseusse, as Pierre shudder-
! ingly recognized. The ianitOr from the studio
| building, a fierce, red-besrded gentleman of
/ the Danish race, had the seat at Madames 8
right.
Next to him sat Clarisse, who came from
! the little hair shop at the corner once week
| to do madames hair. There was Hans, the
| head clerk in the thriving German-American
grocery around sthe corner, who always sold
madame her tea and waters. There was
! Mickey, the newsboy, happy, but violently
! embarrassed and clad for the occasion in a
sweater, and there was the ianitor's small,
| ierce-eyed daughter, who subdued her natu-
! raj inclination TO fight and was very amiable,
| indeed. Pierre could have wept to wait upon
such a painfully mixed assembly had not
curiosity been stronger even than grief.
he watched them sitting in silent embarass-
ment at first. He noticed their first timorous
jerky efforts at socialblity and the gradual
ease that overspread the gathering. Soon
they were all laughing and talking as if a
dinner with the artist and his wife was an
/ everyday affair. Mickey and the ianitor 8
daughter had promised to initiate each other
in the mysteries OF certain games the next
day. Clarisse and Hans seemed acquainted
| from the beginning The Dane and the Irish
woman threw in remarks about their native
lands with cheerful frequency.
BY and by the host arose. He had glass
Of wine in hand. He proposed a toast 1t
was simply Home, and they drank il in
silence and were silent a minute or two after
wards
''Ah, it wuz the green medder OF wuz seein'
agen whin We said Home sur" confessed
Mrs. McConnor. "Soft and lush it is, an
there's naught loike it here, at all, at all.
And /, said Mrs. Artist, dreamily, saw
big. white-piliared house on a hill, with
scarlet creepers twinning about the pillars
and the breath Of oleanders on the air
The janitor, pressed for his mental vision,
confessed to having seen Il cleft in the rocks
where the foam dashed up dazzling as sun
smitten snow. And the artist, signing, said:
''It's stern, square house on a bleak street
that I see. The eims are bare before it and
the street is frozen and the sky is gray. But
It's home"
Hans" said Mrs. Artist, smiling at her
grocer's clerk, what do you see when you
think of home!'
''Clarisse and 1 are furnishing two rooms, -
he said, simply "We'n be married before
Christmas"
And Clarisse with vivid blush beneath her
elaborate coiffure admitted that Hans had
spoken the truth and she had been drinking
to two rooms on Sixth avenue when she drank
to the toast.
When it was all over and the guests had
gone the golden-haired lady remarked to her
husband:
IF we weren't going home next Thanks
giving we'd do this again, wouldn't we?"
eyes, said he, but We are."-New York
World.
-a . b--