erally swamped beneath his bundles, staggered into
the vestibule. To the different errands confided to his charge by the
hotel's guests had undoubtedly been added the cook's list, for an
enormous cabbage and a bunch of leeks completely hid his face, which
was uncovered only as he let them fall to the ground.

When he had finally deposited his treasures, we discovered a small lad
about fourteen or fifteen years of age, dressed in a bellboy's uniform
which had been made for some one far more corpulent of stature. The
sleeves reached far down over his hands, the tight fitting, gold
buttoned jacket strangely resembled a cross between a bag and an
overcoat, and though a serious reef had been taken in the trousers at
the waist line, the legs would twist and sway--at times being almost as
ample as those worn by the Turkish sultanas.

Our coachman now arrived with our luggage.

"Monsieur Amede, take this luggage and accompany Monsieur and Madame to
number six."

The child gathered up his new burden and started upstairs.

We followed, helping him pick up the various objects which successively
escaped his grasp.

"Goodness, it seems to me you're awfully young to be doing such heavy
work!"

"Oh," said he, wiping his brow, "I'm very lucky. My mother is cook
here, and Monsieur Balthazard is my uncle. With old fat Julia, the
maid, and Mathilde, the linen woman, we're all that's left. All the
men have gone to war, and the women into the powder mills. We keep the
hotel going, we do."

Monsieur Amede was full of good will, and a desire to help me all he
could. He explained to us that he was now building the solid
foundation of a future whose glories he hardly dare think, so numerous
and unfathomable did they seem. Unfortunately, however, we were
obliged to note that he seemed little gifted for the various
occupations to which he had consecrated his youth--and his glorious
future--for in less than five minutes he had dropped a heavy valise on
my toes, and upset an ink-well, whose contents dripped not only onto
the carpet but onto one of my new bags. In trying to repair damages,
Monsieur Amede spoiled my motor veil and got several large spots on the
immaculate counterpane, after which he bowed himself out, wiping his
hands on the back of his jacket, assuring us that there was no harm
done, that no one would scold us, nor think of asking us for damages.

We saw him again at dinner time, when disguised as a waiter he pas