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Page 6
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Urchin_ (_who has been "moved on" by emaciated policeman_).
"AIN'T YER GOT A COOK ON YOUR BEAT?"]
* * * * *
OUR SPARTAN EDITORS.
"WANTED: THE CAT. By Horatio Bottomley."--_John Bull._
* * * * *
MARDI GRAS.
(_With the British Army in France._)
"Have you reflected, _mon chou_," said M'sieur Bonneton, complacently
regarding the green carnations on his carpet-slippers, "that to-morrow is
Mardi Gras?"
"I have," replied Madame shortly.
"One may expect then, _ma petite,_ that there will be _cr�pes_ for dinner?"
"With eggs at twelve francs the dozen?" said Madame decidedly. "One may
not."
On any other matter M'sieur would probably have taken his wife's decision
as final, but he had a consuming passion for _cr�pes_, and was moreover a
diplomat.
"_La vie ch�re!_" he said sadly; "it cuts at the very vitals of
hospitality. With what pleasure I could have presented myself to our
amiable neighbours, the Sergeant-Major Coghlan and his estimable wife, and
said, 'It is the custom in France for all the world to eat _cr�pes_ on
Mardi Gras. Accept these, then, made by Madame Bonneton herself, who in the
making of this national delicacy is an incomparable artist.' But when eggs
are twelve francs the dozen"--he shook his head gloomily--"generous
sentiments must perish."
Madame perceptibly softened.
"Perhaps, after all, I might persuade that miser Dobelle to sell me a few
at ten francs the dozen," she murmured; and M'sieur knew that diplomacy had
won another notable victory.
Curiously enough, at this precise moment the tenants of the _premier �tage_
of 10 _bis_, rue de la R�publique, were also engaged in a gastronomic
discussion.
"If almanacs in France count as they do in Aldershot," said Mrs. Coghlan,
"to-morrow will be Shrove Tuesday."
"An' what av it?" demanded Sergeant-Major Coghlan of the British Army.
"What of it? As though ye'd not been dreaming of pancakes this fortnight
an' more past--fearful to mention thim an' fearful lest I should forget.
Well, well, if ye'll bring a good flour ration in the marning I'll do me
best."
"I've been thinking, Peggy lass," said the gratified Sergeant-Major, "it
wud be the polite thing to make a few for thim dacent people on the
ground-flure. I'll wager they've niver seen th' taste av' a pancake in this
country."
Thus it was that when Hippolyte Larivi�re, the cornet-player of the Palais
de Cin�ma, ascended the stairs to his eerie on the top-floor of 10 _bis_
the following evening the appetising odour of frying batter enveloped him
as a garment. He sniffed appreciatively.
"_Le gros_ Bonneton can eat _cr�pes_ freely without considering the effect
on his temperament," he said. "One sometimes regrets the demands of Art."
Outside the Coghlans' door another idea struck him. "The essence of a
present lies not in its value but its appropriateness. A few _cr�pes_ on
Mardi Gras would be a novel acknowledgment to the Sergeant-Major of his
liberality in the way of cigarettes. At present my case is empty."
Retracing his steps he went to the Caf� aux Gourmets and persuaded the
_propri�taire_ to prepare half-a-dozen _cr�pes_ with all possible speed and
send them piping-hot to his room in exchange for a promise of his influence
in getting her on the free list of the Cinema. Then, in a glow of virtue,
he returned to prepare his toilette for the evening performance.
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