w the game. They have made millions out of it
in Paris. Every time you go to see a musical comedy at home, the second
act is laid in Paris, and you see a whole stageful of girls wriggling
around, and a lot of old sports having the time of their lives. All your
life you hear that Paris is something rich and racy, something that
makes New York look like Roanoke, Virginia. Well, you fall for the
ballyho and come over to have your fling--and then you find that Paris
is largely bunk. I spent a whole week in Paris, trying to find something
really awful. I hired one of those Jew guides at five dollars a day and
told him to go the limit. I said to him: "Don't mind _me_. I am
twenty-one years old. Let me have the genuine goods." But the worst he
could show me wasn't half as bad as what I have seen in Chicago. Every
night I would say to that Jew: "Come on, now Mr. Cohen; let's get away
from these tinhorn shows. Lead me to the real stuff." Well, I believe
the fellow did his darndest, but he always fell down. I almost felt
sorry for him. In the end, when I paid him off, I said to him: "Save up
your money, my boy, and come over to the States. Let me know when you
land. I'll show you the sights for nothing. This Baracca Class
atmosphere is killing you."

THE FIRST MAN

And yet Paris is famous all over the world. No American ever came to
Europe without dropping off there to have a look. I once saw the Bal
Tabarin crowded with Sunday-school superintendents returning from
Jerusalem. And when the sucker gets home he goes around winking and
hinting, and so the fake grows. I often think the government ought to
take a hand. If the beer is inspected and guaranteed in Germany, why
shouldn't the shows be inspected and guaranteed in Paris?

THE SECOND MAN

I guess the trouble is that the Frenchmen themselves never go to their
own shows. They don't know what is going on. They see thousands of
Americans starting out every night from the Place de l'Opera and coming
back in the morning all boozed up, and so they assume that everything is
up to the mark. You'll find the same thing in Washington. No
Washingtonian has ever been up to the top of the Washington monument.
Once the elevator in the monument was out of commission for two weeks,
and yet Washington knew nothing about it. When the news got into the
papers at last, it came from Macon, Georgia. Some honeymooner from down
there had written home about it, roasting the government.

THE