The Washington times., 1933-01-05
The Biggest Thrill

me OlSSeST IhrIIl
Before go any further in
my observations on Partisan
life, I must give you a descrip-
ton of the biggest thrill that
E struck this baby in this city.
It haprened in the Mont
martre district, which may
mean something to you but
means absolutely nothing to
me. I've been here a few days
now and I sill don't know the
name of the avenue upon
which this hotel is located.
When I want to go home 1 hop
into a cab, growl the name of
the hotel and trust to luck. SO
far I've only missed it three
times-which isn't bad.
At any rate. on my second
night here a Mr.. Smith, who
halls from the western part of
America, invited me to be his
guest on a sightseeing tour.
Mr.. Smith has been here sew
eral months and speaks French
far more fluently than I. I
know nothing and he knows six
words more.
Accepting his kind invitation,
we started out. Time passed
very quickly, as it has a habit
of doing in Paris. At 4 o'clock
In the morning, Mr.. Smith de-
cided it was time to retire. I
insisted on continuing. Mr..
Smith is basically a home-lov-
ing gentleman; liking nothing
so much as his fireside, his
books. a cup of coffee, a sand
wich and you. On this par
ticular night, however, I was
able to persuade him to stay
out little longer.
Thus we wandered. We
walked on and on. Through
alleys, bywayS and deserted
streets. Finally the streets
began to grow so crooked and
appallingly empty that I grew
slightly suspicious.
Lost in Montmartre
Smith" I murmured anxi-
ously, "just where are we now?"
Where are we?" he re-
peated in his best French. How
the hell do I know?"
That settled it. I decided
that then and there was the
exact spot for a slight verbal
argument. I loudly insisted that
1t would be best to retrace our
steps. Just as loudly Mr.. Smith
stated that such a course would
do no good-because of we re-
traced our steps we wouldn't
know where we were. And so
we argued.
Suddenly from out of no.
where came a policeman-gen-
darme, we Frenchmen call him.
He clutched me and commenced
to walk along, 1 knew what
that meant. Getting arrested
Is the same in any language.
The exact nature of my offense
I still do not know.
Mr.. Smith, fortunately enough,
was not under arrest. Just
why, I have no idea. It was
probably because the gendarme
had a beautiful flowing mus
tache-and so did Mr.. Smith.
Misery loves company.
We finally reached the din
giest police station in my
memory. With a none too gentle
shove, I was landed before
what I took to be the lieu
tenant.
The gendarme spelled off a
line Of lingo in French. Then
came the lieutenant with an
other line of French. He, too,
had a long flowing mustache,
which he. continually fingered
as he spoke. Between the two
OF them / had visions of being
sent to the bastile for life.
Finally, they both stopped talk
ing. And I realized that it was
my turn to say something.
No ParIez French
me no parlez French" I
Stammered. And will you
monkeys please tellez-moi what
I'm here for? Can't a guy be
on re streets after 4::30 in re
morning without you baboons
taking him to re hoosegow?"
The gendarme looked at his
superior. The lieutenant gaped
at me. They knew l didn't un-
derstand French. And 1 was
just as certain that they didn't
understand a single word of my
K7EwAshER sRoS