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GOODWIN'S WEEKLY 7 H
MONSIEUR JOSEPH.
i
ON the day that I left the hospital,
with a month's sick leave In hand,
I went to dine at my favorite Soho
restaurant, the Mazarln, which I al-
i ways liked because it provided an ex-
C cellent meal for an extremely modest
i sum. But this evening my steps
turned toward the old place because I
I wanted a word with Monselur Joseph,
the head-waiter.
I found him the same genial soul as
j ever .though a shade stouter, perhaps,
and grayer at the temples, and I flat
I ter myself that it was with a smile of
I genuine pleasure that he led me to
I my old table in a corner of the room.
! "Wihen the crowd of diners had
1 thinned he came to me for a chat.
. , "It is indeed a pleasure to see
t 'M'sieur after so long a time," said he,
"for, alas, there are so many others
of our old clients who will not ever
return."
I told him that I, too, was glad to
he sitting in the comparative quiet of
the Mazarin and asked him how he
fared.
Joseph smiled. "I 'ave a surprise
for M'sleur," Le said "yes, a great
surprise. There are ten, fifteen years
that I work In thees place, and in four
more weeks le patron will retire and
I become the proprietor. Oh, it is bee
utlful,' he continued, clasping his
hands rapturously, " to think that in
so leetle time 1, who. came to London
a poor waiter, shall be patron of one
of its finest restaurants.'
I offered him my warmest congrat
ulations. If ever a man deserved suc
cess it was he, and it was good to see
the look of pleasure on his face as I
told him so.
"And now,' said I presently, "I also
have a surprise for you, Joseph."
He laughed. "Eh blen, M'sleur, it
is your turn to take my breath away."
"My last billet in (France, before
being wounded," I told him, "was in
a Picardy village called Flechinelle."
He raised his hands. "Mon Dieu,"
he cried, "it is my own village!'
"More than that," I continued, "for
nearly six weeks I lodged just behind
the church, In a whitewashed cottage
with a Btock of oranges, pipes and
boot-laces for sale in the window."
"It Is my- mother's shop!" he ex
claimed breathlessly.
I nodded my head, and then pro-
ceeded to give him the hundred-and-
one messages that I had received from
the little old lady as soon as she dis
covered that I knew her son.
"It is so long since I 'ave seen 'or,"
said Monsieur Joseph, blowing his
nose violently. "So 'ard I work in
London these ten, fifteen years that
only once have I gone 'ome since my
father died."
Then I told him how bent and old
his mother was, and how lonesome
she had seemed all by herself in the
cottage, and as I spoke of the shop
& which Bhe still kept going in her
front room the tears fairly rained
down his face.
"But M'sleur," said he, "that which
you tell me Is indeed strange; for
those letters which she writes to me
week by week are always gay, and it
'as seemed to me that my mother was
well content."
Then he struck his fist on the table.
"I 'ave it," he said. "She shall come
to live 'ere with me in Londres. All
that she desires shall be 'ers, for am I
not a rich man?"
I Bhook my head. "She would never
leave her village now," I told him.
"And I know well that she desires noth
ing in the world except to see you
again."
Then as I rose to go, "Good night,
M'sleur," said Joseph, a little sadly.
"Be very sure that there Is always a
welcome here for you.'
The next time I dined at tho Ma
zarin was some four weeks later, on
the eve of my return to the front. A
strange waiter Bhowed me to my
place, and Joseph was nowhere to be
seen. Indeed a wholly different air
seemed to pervade the place since my
last visit. Presently I beckoned to a
waiter whom I recognized as having
served under the old regime. "Where
is Monsieur Joseph.?" I asked him.
"Where indeed, sir!" the man re
plied. "It is all so strange. One day
it is arranged that he shall take over
the restaurant and its staff, and on
the next he come to say 'Good-bye' to
us all, and then leave for France. Oh,
It is so droll. So good q, business
man to Ipse the chance that comes
once only in a life! He is too old to
fight. Yet who knows? Maybe he
heard, of. something better out there
it
As the man spoke the gold and
white walls of the restaurant faded,
the clatter of plates and dishes died
away ,and I was back again in a tiny
illage shop in Picardy. AcrosB the
counter, packed with its curious stock
I saw Monsieur Joseph, with shirt
sleeves rolled up, gravely handing a
stick of chocolate to a child, and tak
ing his sou in return. In the diminu
tive kitchen behind sat a little white
haired old lady with such a look of
content on her face as I have rarely
seen.
Then suddenly I found myself back
again in the London restaurant.
"Yes," I said to the waiter, "it is
possible, as you say, that Monsieur
Joseph heard of something better in
France."
And raising my glass I drank a si
lent toast. Punch,
ANOTHER WAR CASUALTY.
"You don't Beem to feel so enthusi
astic as usual about speeech-making."
,4Well," answered Senator Sorghum,
"times have changed and it isn't so
easy for a man in a silk hat and a
frock coat to stand out before a lot of
men in khaki uniforms or overalls
and assert that he is saving the coun
try all by himself." Washington Star.
1 i i ii i i t -
RIPENED JUDGMENT.
"Then we're engaged?"
"Of course."
"And I am the first girl you over
loved?"
"No, my dear, but I'm harder to suit
now than I used to be." Kansas City
Journal.
NOT MUCH CHANCE.
If love were a berry that-1 could pick
I'd doubtless eat until I was sick.
If love were a perfume that I could
smell
I would suffocate in some incensed
dell.
If love wore the touch of -a woman's
hand
I would seek every woman in every
land.
If love were a wine, never mind tho
cost,
I would drink and drink till my soul
was lost.
If love were the scent of a woman's
hair
I would die, no doubt, from my snif
fings there.
If love were the touch of a cherry lip
I would still kiss on - 'though my
senses slip.
But love is not of taste, smell or
touch,
So there's little chance of my having
much.
The Logician in Town Topics.
i
THE HAPPY SMOKER.
When I am "broke," I take a smoke
Comfort is my aim
Likewise when "flush' or maybe
lush",
I gently nurse the flame.
The wreaths of smoke that round me
roll,
From "Garcia" or from carven bowl,
Drive care away
And make the way
If dark, all bright; if bright, then more
Of joy is added to my store.
And so I puff, morn, noon and night,
The Gods be thanked for this sweet
"light."
E. Bonflls.
HIS FIRST PERFORMANCE.
"Who's dead?" asked the stranger,
viewing the elaborate funeral proces
sion. "The bloke what's inside the cof
fin," answered an irreverent small
boy.
"But who is it?" the stranger pur
sued. "It's tho mayor," waB the reply.
"So the mayor is dead, is he?"
mused the stranger.
"Well, I guess," said the small boy,
wltherlngly. "D'you think he's hav
ing a rehearsal?" Milestones.
Woolley Brothers
BROKERS
Mimbtrs Salt Lakt Stock and
Mining Exchange.
Mining and Industrial Stocks
We solicit your business
617-18-19 Ncwhou Bid.
Telephone Wauteh 1134
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