eve it,
that man spoke patois, straight patois--the very worst kind, and fast.
The man from Kansas had spotted it at once. He hadn't listened to more
than ten sentences before he recognized it. "Patois," he said.

Of course, it's fine to be able to detect patois like this. It's
impressive. The mere fact that you know the word patois shows that you
must be mighty well educated.

Here in Paris it was the same way. Everybody that the man from Kansas
tried--waiters, hotel clerks, shop people--all spoke patois. An educated
person couldn't follow it.

On the whole, I think the advice of the man from Kansas is good. When
you come to Paris, leave French behind. You don't need it, and they
don't expect it of you.

In any case, you soon learn from experience not to use it.

If you try to, this is what happens. You summon a waiter to you and you
say to him very slowly, syllable by syllable, so as to give him every
chance in case he's not an educated man:

"Bringez moi de la soupe, de la fish, de la roast pork et de la
fromage."

And he answers:

"Yes, sir, roast pork, sir, and a little bacon on the side?"

That waiter was raised in Illinois.

Or suppose you stop a man on the street and you say to him:

"Musshoo, s'il vous plait, which is la direction pour aller a le Palais
Royal?"

And he answers:

"Well, I tell you, I'm something of a stranger here myself, but I guess
it's straight down there a piece."

Now it's no use speculating whether that man comes from Dordogne
Inferieure or from Auvergne-sur-les-Puits because he doesn't.

On the other hand, you may strike a real Frenchman--there are some even
in Paris. I met one the other day in trying to find my way about, and I
asked him:

"Musshoo, s'il vous plait, which is la direction pour aller a Thomas
Cook & Son?"

"B'n'm'ss'ulvla'n'fsse'n'sse'pas!"

I said: "Thank you so much! I had half suspected it myself." But I
didn't really know what he meant.

So I have come to make it a rule never to use French unless driven to
it. Thus, for example, I had a tremendous linguistic struggle in a
French tailors shop.

There was a sign in the window to the effect that "completes" might be
had "for a hundred." It seemed a chance not to be missed. Moreover, the
same sign said that English and German were spoken.

So I went in. True to my usual principle of ignoring the French
language, I said to the head man:

"You speak English?"

He shrugged his shoulders, sprea