ant des Huitres. She needed no gallant husband to make her a
marshal's wife, as in the case of Sans-Gene, for she was a marshal
herself. She should have the _croix de guerre_ with all the stars and a
palm, too, for knowing how to cook. A small stove which was as busy
with its sizzling pans as a bombing party stood at the foot of a cramped
stairway, whose ascent revealed a few tables, with none for two and
everybody sitting elbow to elbow, as it were, in the small dining-room.
There were dishes enough and clean, too, and spotless serviettes, but no
display of porcelain and silver was necessary, for the food was a
sufficient attraction. Madame was all for action. If you did not order
quickly she did so for you, taking it for granted that a wavering mind
indicated a palate that called for arbitrary treatment.

She had a machine gun tongue on occasion. If you did not like her
restaurant it was clear that other customers were waiting for your
place, and generals capitulated as promptly as lieutenants. A
camaraderie developed at table under the spur of her dynamic presence
and her occasional artillery concentrations, which were brief and
decisive, for she had no time to waste. Broiled lobster and sole,
oysters, filets and chops, sizzling fried potatoes, crisp salads,
mountains of forest strawberries with pots of thick cream and delectable
coffee descended from her hands, with no mistake in any orders or delay
in the prompt succession of courses, on the cloth before you by some
legerdemain of manipulation in the narrow quarters to the accompaniment
of her repartee. It was past understanding how she accomplished such
results in quantity and quality on that single stove with the help of
one assistant whom, apparently, she found in the way at times; for the
assistant would draw back in the manner of one who had put her finger
into an electric fan as her mistress began a manipulation of pots and
pans.

If Madame des Huitres should come to New York, I wonder--yes, she would
be overwhelmed by people who had anything like a trench appetite. Soon
she would be capitalized, with branches des Huitres up and down the
land, while she would no longer touch a skillet, but would ride in a
limousine and grow fat, and I should not like her any more.

People who could not get into des Huitres or were not in the secret
which, I fear, was selfishly kept by those who were, had to dine at the
hotel, where a certain old waiter--all young ones being