Robert W. Chambers

In the Quarter Robert W. Chambers

One evening in May, 1888, the Café des Écoles was even more crowded and more noisy than usual. The marble-topped tables were wet with beer and the din was appalling. Someone shouted to make himself heard. ``Any more news from the Salon?'' ``Yes,'' said Elliott, ``Thaxton's in with a number three. Rhodes is out and takes it hard. Clifford's out too, and takes it -- '' A voice began to chant: Je n'sais comment faire, Comment concillier Ma maitresse et mon père, Le Code et Bullier. ``Drop it! Oh, drop it!'' growled Rhodes, and sent a handful of billiard chalk at the singer. Mr Clifford returned a volley of the Café spoons, and continued: Mais c'que je trouve de plus bête, C'est qu' i' faut financer Avec ma belle galette, J'aimerai mieux m'amuser. Several other voices took up the refrain, lamenting the difficulty of reconciling their filial duties with balls at Bullier's, and protesting that they would rather amuse themselves than consider financial questions. Rhodes sipped his curaçoa sulkily. ``The longer I live in the Latin Quarter,'' he said to his neighbor, ``the less certain I feel about a place of future punishment. It would be so tame after this.'' Then, reverting to his grievance, he added, ``The slaughter this year at the Salon is awful.'' Reginald Gethryn stirred nervously but did not speak. ``Have a game, Rex?'' called Clifford, waving a cue.