The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1906-07-19

as master. after two seasons at
Paris, where man acquires his pol
ish-his perfection of manner, his
finish, his grace? Philippe could
never enough prize that postgraduate
course at the Maison dor, where he
had personally known - madame
might not believe 1.-THE incompar-
| able Casmir, a chef who served two
generations OF epicures, princes,
kings, statesmen, travelling Americans
all the truly great.
With his own lips Casmir had told
him, Philippe, of the occasion when
Dumas, pere, had invited him to din
ner that they might discuss the
esoterlcs Of salad dressing and
sauces; also of the time when Mar
quls de st. Georges embraced Casmir
Tor lnventing the precious soup that
afterwards became famous as Postage
Germlne. And now the skilled and
pulssant Casmir had retired. 1t was
a calamity. The Maison d'Or-Paris
would no longer be what they had
been.
For that matter, since one must
live, Philippe preferred it to be in
America, for in no other country could
an adept acquire so much money.
And Philippe knew the whole dining
world. With Celine and the baby,
Paul, Philippe dwelt in an apartment
| that would really amaze madame by
It's appointments of luxury, in East
Ihlrty-elghth street, and only the
four flights to climb. And Paul was
three, the largest for his age, quite
the largest, that either Philippe or
Celine had ever beheld Even the
brother of Celine and his wife, who
had restaurant of their oWn-serv-
ing the table d'hote at two and one
half francs the plate, with wine-even
these swore they had never seen an
infant so big, for his years, as Paul.
And so Mrs. Bines grew actually to
feel an interest in the creature and
his wretched affairs, and even fell
into the deplorable habit of saying:
Il must come to see you and your
wife and Paul some pleasant day,
Philippe and Philippe, being a
man of the world, thought none the
less of her for believing that she did
not mean it.
Yet it befen on an afternoon that
Mrs. Bines found herself in a popu-
lous side-street, driving home from
a visit to the rheumatic scrub.woman
who had now to be supported by the
papers her miserable offspring sold.
Mrs. Bines had never seen so many
children as flooded this street. She
| wondered if an orphan asylum were
in the neighborhood. And though the
day was pleasantly warm, she de-
cided that there were about her at
least thousand cases of incipient
pneumonia, for not one child in five
had on hat. They ragged and dashed
and rippled from curb to curb so that
they might have made her think of q
swift mountain torrent at the Dot-
tom of gloomy canyon, but that the
worthy woman was too literalminded
for such fancies. She only warned
the man to drive slowly.
And then by street sign she saw
that she was near the home of
Philippe. 1t was three o'clock, and
he would be resting from his work.
The man found the number. The
waves parted and piled themselves
on either side in hushed wonder as
she entered the hallway and searched
for the name on the little cards un-
der the bells. She had never known
the surname, and on two of the cards
"Ph." appeared. She rang one of the
bells, the door mysteriously opened
with repeated double click, and she
| began the toilsome climb. The waves
of children fell together behind her
in turbulent play again.
At the top she breathed a moment
and then knocked at a door before
her. A voice within called:
"Entrez!" and Mrs. Bines opened
the door.
1t was the tiny kitchen of Philippe.
Philippe, himself, in shirt-sleeves, sat
in a chair tilted back close to the
gas range, the Courier des Etats Unis
in his hands and Paul on his lap.
Celine ironed the bosom of a gentle
mans white shirt on an ironing board
supported by the backs of two chairs.
Hemmed in the corner by this board
and by the gas range, seated at a
table covered by the oilcloth that
Stimulates the marble of Italy's most
famous quarry, sat, undoubtedly,
Baron Ronault de Palliac A steam
ing plate of spaghetti la Italien was
before him, to his left large bowl
of salad, to his right a bottle of red
wine.
For a space of three seconds the
entire party behaved as if it we're
being photographed under time-expo-
sure. Philippe and the baby stared,
motionless. Celine stared, resting no
slight weight on the hot fat-iron.
Baron Ronault de Palliac stared. his
fork poised in mid-air and festooned
with gay little steamers of spa