Page 77 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

bedside. He stripped the clothes back and shook me rough-
ly.
‘Get up!’ he said. ‘TU T’ES BIEN SAOULE LA GNEULE,
EH? Well, never mind that, the hotel’s a man short. You’ve
got to work today.’
‘Why should I work?’ I protested. ‘This is my day off.’
‘Day off, nothing! The work’s got to be done. Get up!’
I got up and went out, feeling as though my back were
broken and my skull filled with hot cinders. I did not think
that I could possibly do a day’s work. And yet, after only an
hour in the basement, I found that I was perfectly well. It
seemed that in the heat of those cellars, as in a turkish bath,
one could sweat out almost any quantity of drink. PLON-
GEURS know this, and count on it. The power of swallowing
quarts of wine, and then sweating it out before it can do
much damage, is one of the compensations of their life.

Down and Out in Paris and London