Page 137 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

man had arrived. For a moment our quarrels were forgotten
and we all united in the effort to serve a good dinner. Boris
tiptoed into the kitchen, jerked his thumb over his shoulder
and whispered conspiratorially:
‘SH! ATTENTION, UN FRANCAIS!’
A moment later the PATRON’s wife came and whis-
pered:
‘ATTENTION, UN FRANCAIS! See that he gets a dou-
ble portion of all vegetables.’
While the Frenchman ate, the PATRON’S wife stood
behind the grille of the kitchen door and watched the ex-
pression of his face. Next night the Frenchman came back
with two other Frenchmen. This meant that we were earn-
ing a good name; the surest sign of a bad restaurant is to be
frequented only by foreigners. Probably part of the reason
for our success was that the PATRON, with the sole gleam of
sense he had shown in fitting out the restaurant, had bought
very sharp table-knives. Sharp knives, of course, are THE
secret of a successful restaurant. I am glad that this hap-
pened, for it destroyed one of my illusions, namely, the idea
that Frenchmen know good food when they see it. Or per-
haps we WERE a fairly good restaurant by Paris standards;
in which case the bad ones must be past imagining.
In a very few days after I had written to B he replied to say
that there was a job he could get for me. It was to look after
a congenital imbecile, which sounded a splendid rest cure
after the Auberge de Jehan Cottard. I pictured myself loaf-
ing in the country lanes, knocking thistle-heads off with my
stick, feeding on roast lamb and treacle tart, and sleeping

1 Down and Out in Paris and London