d the Rats'
Cooler and start counting up the books."

And Billy said: "Will I write the letters for the palms and the tables
and the stuff to go back?"

And Mr. Smith said: "Get 'em written right away."

So all evening the laughter and the chatter and the congratulations went
on, and it wasn't till long after midnight that Mr. Smith was able to
join Billy in the private room behind the "rotunda." Even when he did,
there was a quiet and a dignity about his manner that had never been
there before. I think it must have been the new halo of the Conservative
candidacy that already radiated from his brow. It was, I imagine, at
this very moment that Mr. Smith first realised that the hotel business
formed the natural and proper threshold of the national legislature.

"Here's the account of the cash registers," said Billy.

"Let me see it," said Mr. Smith. And he studied the figures without a
word.

"And here's the letters about the palms, and here's Alphonse up to
yesterday--"

And then an amazing thing happened.

"Billy," said Mr. Smith, "tear'em up. I ain't going to do it. It ain't
right and I won't do it. They got me the license for to keep the caff
and I'm going to keep the caff. I don't need to close her. The bar's
good for anything from forty to a hundred a day now, with the Rats'
Cooler going good, and that caff will stay right here."

And stay it did.

There it stands, mind you, to this day. You've only to step round the
corner of Smith's Hotel on the side street and read the sign: LADIES'
AND GENT'S CAFE, just as large and as imposing as ever.

Mr. Smith said that he'd keep the caff, and when he saida thing he meant
it!

Of course there were changes, small changes.

I don't say, mind you, that the fillet de beef that you get there now is
perhaps quite up to the level of the filet de boeufs aux champignons of
the days of glory.

No doubt the lamb chops in Smith's Caff are often very much the same,
nowadays, as the lamb chops of the Mariposa House or the Continental.

Of course, things like Omelette aux Trufles practically died out when
Alphonse went. And, naturally, the leaving of Alphonse was inevitable.
No one knew just when he went, or why. But one morning he was gone. Mr.
Smith said that "Alf had to go back to his folks in the old country."

So, too, when Alf left, the use of the French language, as such, fell
off tremendously in the caff. Even now they use it to some extent. You
can still get f