The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1901-05-03

| tne SIOulucfS. lie carried small parccl
under his arm. 1t was wocful story h.
told, with the spring moonlight all about
| US.
He had come that day ON the Bretagne
-confOund the man and his two children
in Picardy! This paresis was an awful
thing. But what If it were all breath
from old Egypt and my great-grandfa-
Their had heard n story about a fellow Pr
card and roll of money stolen in steer
| age and-then | swore. As said, had
learned some French in boyhood. Then l
had bought drinks for a Paris boulevar-
der, and-well, never mind. The Paris
bouevardier had taught me to swear in
such fashion as would have made me hail
fellow in Montmartre.
l called him the worst things that his
native tongue permitted.
The man who knew McGlory blushed
and looked back and forth from the beg
| gar to me.
! And the man with the bundle shrank
and shrank and made no reply. He crcpt.
always facing US, backward farther from
the light and disappeared into the deep
shadows under the trees. His form was
| lost. His pale face was the last thing
which I saw.
And we went away.
|
Summer makes Cramercy park pretty,
and the lights Of the Players club shine
out and IL N drink there and say cynical
th:a:s in thr small hours.
An August night was passing through
Gramercy square homeward. There was
just the distant murmur Of Fourth ave-
nue., with the occasional football of q late
| fellow walking along Irving place. l
could hear the fountains drippings fall
into its still basin. The air was sweet
with the fragrance of blossoms, waited
out through the tall iron palings.
Out of the shadows of the park came a
man. In voice which in that soft night
was the most utterly piteous sound l ever
heard he cried, stretching out one hand
In suppliant way:
"Parlez-vous Francois, monsieur"
1t was strange, courteous question to
arrest a home going chap at such IN
hour. l turned, then stopped. Then
closed my right very tightly, as Bob
| Turnbull had showed me how long ago.
Then answered. my God, yes!"
l had learned some French in boyhood,
then had bought drinks for Paris boule-
| Warbler and fulfilled the dubious lin
guistic requirements Of a New Jersey
college. l had deep seated love for the
French people and deal Of fondness for
the French tongue.
There in that sultry night, hearing that
question, saw the honest peasants-sim-
pie, sturdy folk-toiling aficld in far Pro-
vence. l saw the Breton fisher, singing
as he Lord, who and what was this
genius of gall, who with his pale, beggar
face and dismal, beggar voice kept stalk
ing out upon me from dark places?
Was he going to be like Mr.. Dicks
head of Charles l? Could know no ref
uge from this garlic breathed Picard and
his two children and his roll of money
lost in the steerage Of La Bretagne?
Profit, cried l. thing Of evil.
Profit still, II bird or devil.
I hit him very hard. Assuming that
his face was France in profile, my fist
landed in the Norman territory.
He moaned and muttered something in
French. l paused while he lay and wait
ed for me to so away.
1t was enough. There was no fight in
him. In an ecstasy Of meanncss walk
ed off. whistling loudly the 'Marseilles,"
"Allons, allons, mes braves"
.
The air was filed again with December
SHOWS. Gray looked the tall buildings
through that sitting cloud of white. The
street lamps were dim and dull, like the
eyes of poppy eaters.
Far down shabby, narrow west side
street in the purlieus of old Greenwich
village the shop windows cleaned gay,
with the frost upon them.
Men and women and children with
bright faces leaned against the storms