Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1900-04-26
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THE BOY FROM CHICAGO.

"If it wasn't for the boy from Shee'
caygo," the woman wrote back home
from Paris, Il couldn't live here, and
that's all there is to il. Id be com
ing home if had to walk You should
see him. You should heaI him talk
To tell the truth, | had been in Eng
land so long | had forgotten how cute
an American boy can be. So the boy
from Sheecaygo burst rapturously
upon me, joyful surprise. lie await
ed me at the pension. He had come
across on a French steamer, where he
had nearly killed himself being game
and eating snails, he said, the week
before. | hailed him with enthusl-
assn. lie didn't know enough French
to come in out Of the rain, but his
American slang fell on my attentive
ear like music. Paris was new to
him. He discussed it at large, pro
and con.
NOW, look here he said, taking
me aside that first evening, don't you
think, between us two, you and me,
that these French people are too
blamed polite to live? Don't you
think they run the thing in the
ground with their bon jours and their
bon soirs and mercies and sill vous
plaits? Speak out like mani mean
woman-and say the thing gives
you the pip. Don't be afraid to
speak. 1t does me.
"'Did you see the Frenchman with
the long black mustache who sits
next me at the table? What do you
suppose he did the first day l came
to that breakfast they have here at
half-past o'clock in the afternoon?
He leaned affectionately toward me
l thought he was about to give me q
cigarette-and he asked me in low,
tender tone-now, guess what he
asked me?'
"'Oh, it wasn't anything you could
MT have heard. He just wanted to
know if l slept well the night before
or not. "Avez vous blen dormez?'
was what he said, or some such truck
in that rag-time French Of his. "Ayez
vous blen dormez?" What do you
think of that? And the worst Of il
is, he keeps it up every blessed
morning of my life since here he
comes wantin to know whether have
been dormied or not. Maybe you
think he don't make me tired.
"'Now, imagine an American ask
ing another man II he has slept well
through the night, and heaving long
deep signs and grieving; yes grieying
If he happens to say he hasn't; taking
it to heart, don't you know! You
should have seen me trying it on that
black mustache one day. ] gave him
a song and dance that would have
made your head swim about lying
awake the live long night and only
falling into dose at s o'clock in the
morning. ! did it to see how it would
work. l wish you could have seer
him. He turned pale. Actually hi
turned pale. And the receipts he gave
me for sleeping well v--~
"'FanY an American caring a raE
whether you sleep well or lie wid'
awake till doomsday. Does he lool
sad at you of a morning and ask how
you have been dormined? Not much
He slaps you on the back with touch
like blacksmith's and yells, Hello
Bill! How's your nigs% And that
all there is to it. That's plenty, too
There's no idiotic foolishness about
Americans, as sure's you're foot
high. They havn't got the time fol
it, for one thing. They are too busy
hustling.
"Listen a minute while ! give you
a pretty fair sample of this overdont
French politeness. You see, I've beer
shaking that dejeuner. or whatever
they call tits no good, anyway, all
plates in different patterns and sips
OF wine-and taking my lunch to the
office. 1t would bring tears to your
eyes. If they gave it to you you'd
take the next steamer home.
"Well, | sat on high stool with
out any back down there at the Office
munching a tough piece of Swiss
cheese all holes and trying to chew
the end off hunk of French bread a
yard long and thinking of mother
Things like that will make you think
of mother when you are so blamed
far away, don't you know. You cant
help it, somehow. Pretty soon when
/ got to comparing that old bread
with the little thin slices she used to
fix for me in Chicago, with ham in
between and a taste of mustard and
bits Of white chicken with the bones
taken out, ii choked me,
"He's nothing but a child, this boy
from Sheecaygo. ! don't know what
they can mean, letting him come so
far from home alone,
"'Yes, know you think I'm a kid"
he said but I'm not If you knew
half the things know, your hair
would stand straight up. But see here,
when YOU are so blamed far away
you cant just finish lunch like that
without choking. You can't. wrap
ped it up in the same Old piece Of
brown paper and chuckcd thunder the
desk, Then ! went across the street
and stood while looking at Il big
chocolate cake in the window with
on it was just about the size of my
months salary, Just about.
- went on back and worked all
afternoon, empty as a gourd. When
| got ready to go home | wondered
what | was to do with the lunch. !
didn't want to lug it back with me
They might find it and be insulted
there at the pension because ! hadn't