constant craving for something sweet--and incidentally insured a host
of friends for anybody who came along with a box of American candy
under his arm or a few cakes of sweet chocolate in his pocket--one
might take his choice of a wide diversity of fare at any restaurant
of the first or second class, and keep well stayed.

In connection with the Paris restaurants I made a most interesting
discovery, which was that when France called up her available man
power at the time of the great mobilisation, the military heads
somehow overlooked one group who, for their sins, should have been
sent up where bullets and Huns were thickest. The slum gave up its
Apache--and a magnificent fighter he is said to have made too! And the
piratical cab drivers who formerly infested the boulevards must have
answered the summons almost to a man, because only a few of them are
left nowadays, and they mainly wear markings to prove they have served
in the ranks; but by a most reprehensible error of somebody in
authority the typical head waiters of the cafés were spared. I base
this assertion upon the fact that all of them appeared to be on duty
at the time of my latest visit. If there was a single absentee from
the ranks I failed to miss him.

There they were, the same hawk-eyed banditti crew that one was
constantly encountering in the old days; and up to all the same old
tricks too--such as adding the date of the month and all the figures
of the year into the bill; and such as invariably recommending the
most expensive dishes to foreigners; and such as coming to one and
bending over one and smiling upon one and murmuring to one: "An' wot
will ze gentailman 'ave to-day?"--and then, before the gentailman can
answer, jumping right in and telling him what he is going to have,
always favouring at least three different kinds of meats for even the