e might see, at mealtime we would enter a community too small
to harbour within it any establishment calling itself a hotel. In such
a case this, then, would be our procedure: We would run down to the
railroad crossing and halt at the door of the inevitable _Cafe de la
Station_, or, as we should say in our language, the Last Chance
Saloon; and of the proprietor we would inquire the name and
whereabouts of some person in the community who might be induced, for
a price, to feed a duet or a trio of hungry correspondents.

At first, when we were green at the thing, we sometimes tried to
interrogate the local gendarme; but complications, misunderstandings,
and that same confusion of tongues which spoiled so promising a
building project one time at the Tower of Babel always ensued. Central
Europe has a very dense population, as the geographies used to tell
us; but the densest ones get on the police force.

So when by bitter experience we had learned that the gendarme never by
any chance could get our meaning and that we never could understand
his gestures, we hit upon the wise expedient of going right away to
the Last Chance for information.

At the outset I preferred to let one of my companions conduct the
inquiry; but presently it dawned upon me that my mode of speech gave
unbounded joy to my provincial audiences, and I decided that if a
little exertion on my part brought a measure of innocent pleasure into
the lives of these good folks it was my duty, as an Ally, to oblige
whenever possible.

I came to realise that all these years I have been employing the wrong
vehicle when I strive to dash off whimsicalities, because frequently
my very best efforts, as done in English, have fallen flat. But when
in some remote village I, using French, uttered the simplest and most
commonplace remark to a French tavern keeper, with absolutely no
intent or desire whatsoever, mind you, to be humorous or facetious,
invariably he would burst instantly into peals of unbridled merriment.

Frequently he would call in his wife or some of his friends to help
him laugh. And then, when his guffaws had died away into gentle
chuckles, he would make answer; and if he spoke rapidly, as he always
did, I would be swept away by the freshets of his eloquence and left
gasping far beyond my depth.

That was why, when I went to a revue in Paris, I hoped they'd have
some good tumbling on the bill.

I understand French, of course, curiously enough, but n