- end_line
- 2253
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2172
- text
- is not given gratis here in Paris, to boarders. But if you want it,
take it from the marble, and it will be charged in the bill. If you
don’t want it let it alone, and no charge. Well, that’s fair, anyway.
But then to a man who could not afford to use soap, such beautiful
cakes as these lying before his eyes all the time, would be a strong
temptation. And now that I think of it, the O-t-a-r-d looks rather
tempting too. But if I don’t like it now, I can let it alone. I’ve a
good mind to try it. But it’s sealed. I wonder now if I am right in my
understanding of this alphabet? Who knows? I’ll venture one little sip,
anyhow. Come, cork. Hark!”
There was a rapid knock at the door.
Clapping down the bottle, Israel said, “Come in.”
It was the man of wisdom.
“My honest friend,” said the Doctor, stepping with venerable briskness
into the room, “I was so busy during your visit to the Pont Neuf, that
I did not have time to see that your room was all right. I merely gave
the order, and heard that it had been fulfilled. But it just occurred
to me, that as the landladies of Paris have some curious customs which
might puzzle an entire stranger, my presence here for a moment might
explain any little obscurity. Yes, it is as I thought,” glancing
towards the mantel.
“Oh, Doctor, that reminds me; what is O-t-a-r-d, pray?”
“Otard is poison.”
“Shocking.”
“Yes, and I think I had best remove it from the room forthwith,”
replied the sage, in a business-like manner putting the bottle under
his arm; “I hope you never use Cologne, do you?”
“What—what is that, Doctor?”
“I see. You never heard of the senseless luxury—a wise ignorance. You
smelt flowers upon your mountains. You won’t want this, either;” and
the Cologne bottle was put under the other arm. “Candle—you’ll want
that. Soap—you want soap. Use the white cake.”
“Is that cheaper, Doctor?”
“Yes, but just as good as the other. You don’t ever munch sugar, do
you? It’s bad for the teeth. I’ll take the sugar.” So the paper of
sugar was likewise dropped into one of the capacious coat pockets.
“Oh, you better take the whole furniture, Doctor Franklin. Here, I’ll
help you drag out the bedstead.” “My honest friend,” said the wise man,
pausing solemnly, with the two bottles, like swimmer’s bladders, under
his arm-pits; “my honest friend, the bedstead you will want; what I
propose to remove you will not want.”
“Oh, I was only joking, Doctor.”
“I knew that. It’s a bad habit, except at the proper time, and with the
proper person. The things left on the mantel were there placed by the
landlady to be used if wanted; if not, to be left untouched. To-morrow
morning, upon the chambermaid’s coming in to make your bed, all such
articles as remained obviously untouched would have been removed, the
rest would have been charged in the bill, whether you used them up
completely or not.”
“Just as I thought. Then why not let the bottles stay, Doctor, and save
yourself all this trouble?”
“Ah! why indeed. My honest friend, are you not my guest? It were
unhandsome in me to permit a third person superfluously to entertain
you under what, for the time being, is my own roof.”
These words came from the wise man in the most graciously bland and
flowing tones. As he ended, he made a sort of conciliatory half bow
towards Israel.
Charmed with his condescending affability, Israel, without another
word, suffered him to march from the room, bottles and all. Not till
the first impression of the venerable envoy’s suavity had left him, did
Israel begin to surmise the mild superiority of successful strategy
which lurked beneath this highly ingratiating air.
- title
- Chunk 2