Page 33 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

my sleeve. There are people who owe me money, for in-
stance—Paris is full of them. One of them is bound to pay
up before long. Then think of all the women who have been
my mistress! A woman never forgets, you know—I have
only to ask and they will help me. Besides, the Jew tells me
he is going to steal some magnetos from the garage where
he works, and he will pay us five francs a day to clean them
before he sells them. That alone would keep us. Never wor-
ry, MON AMI. Nothing is easier to get than money.’
‘Well, let’s go out now and look for a job.’
‘Presently, MON AMI. We shan’t starve, don’t you fear.
This is only the fortune of war—I’ve been in a worse hole
scores of times. It’s only a question of persisting. Remember
Foch’s maxim: ‘ATTAQUEZ! ATTAQUEZ! ATTAQUEZ!‘‘
It was midday before Boris decided to get up. All the
clothes he now had left were one suit, with one shirt, col-
lar and tie, a pair of shoes almost worn out, and a pair of
socks all holes. He had also an overcoat which was to be
pawned in the last extremity. He had a suitcase, a wretched
twenty-franc cardboard thing, but very important, be-
cause the PATRON of the hotel believed that it was full of
clothes—without that, he would probably have turned Bo-
ris out of doors. What it actually contained were the medals
and photographs, various odds and ends, and huge bundles
of love-letters. In spite of all this Boris managed to keep a
fairly smart appearance. He shaved without soap and with a
razor-blade two months old, tied his tie so that the holes did
not show, and carefully stuffed the soles of his shoes with
newspaper. Finally, when he was dressed, he produced an

Down and Out in Paris and London