P. G. Wodehouse

“ Among those who did not always see eye to eye with Paul in his views on deportment in waitresses was M. Bredin himself, the owner of the Parisian Café; and it was this circumstance which first gave Paul the opportunity of declaring the passion which was gnawing him. He had long worshiped her from afar, but nothing more intimate than a “Good morning, Miss Jeanne,” had escaped him till one day during a slack spell he came upon her in the little passage leading to the kitchen, her face hidden in her apron, her back jerking with sobs.
Business is business. ”

“ During the meal a messenger, despatched in a cab to Paul’s boarding-house, returned with the canvas. A deferential waiter informed the automobile young man that it had been taken with every possible care to his suite.
“Good,” said the young man. “If you’re through, we’ll go and have a look at it.”
They went up-stairs. There was the picture, resting against a chair.
“Why, I call that fine,” said the young man. “It’s a cracker-jack.”
Paul’s heart gave a sudden leap. Could it be that here was the wealthy connoisseur? He was wealthy, for he drove an automobile and lived at an expensive hotel. ”

“ Which means, broadly, that it is difficult to paint a picture, but a whole heap more difficult to sell it.
Across the centuries Paul Boielle shook hands with Geoffrey Chaucer. “So sharpe the conquering” put his case in a nutshell. The full story of his wanderings with the masterpiece would read like an Odyssey and be about as long. It shall be condensed.
There was an artist who dined at intervals at Bredin’s Parisian Café, and, as the artistic temperament was too impatient to be suited by Jeanne’s leisurely methods, it had fallen to Paul to wait upon him. ”

“ The sun filters in golden splashes through the foliage. On a mossy bank, between two trees, lies a beautiful girl, asleep. Above her, bending fondly over her, just about to kiss that flower-like face, is a young man in the dress of a shepherd. ”

“ Paul’s reply left no room for doubt. Seizing the young man firmly around the waist, he kissed him with extreme fervor on both cheeks.
“Here, break away!” cried the astonished general-manager. “That’s no way to sign a business contract.”
It was at about five minutes after one that afternoon that Policeman Michael Corrigan, patrolling Eighth Avenue, was aware of a man motioning to him from the doorway of Bredin’s Parisian Café and Restaurant. The man looked like a pig. He grunted like a pig. He had the lavish embonpoint of a pig. ”

“ Jeanne spoke it in that way.
Paul wilted.
“On eight dollars a week,” went on Jeanne satirically, “you would support a wife, yes? Why—”
Paul recovered himself. He had an opening now, and proceeded to use it. “Listen,” he said. “At present, yes, it is true, I earn but eight dollars a week, but it will not always be so, no. I am not only a waiter. I am also an artist. I have painted a great picture. For a whole year I have worked, and now it is ready. ”

“ PROOF OF THE ADAGE THAT YOU CAN'T KEEP A GOOD MAN DOWN
By P. G. Wodehouse
Author of “The Matrimonial Sweepstakes,” “The Man Up-stairs,” etc.
PAUL BOIELLE was a waiter. No, it is better to be vulgar than misleading. Paul Boielle was a hash-slinger. The word “waiter” suggests a soft-voiced, deft-handed being, moving swiftly and without noise in an atmosphere of luxury and shaded lamps. At Bredin’s Parisian Café and Restaurant, on Eighth Avenue, where Paul worked, there were none of these things; and Paul himself, though he certainly moved swiftly, was by no means noiseless. ”

“ Constant acquaintance rendered habitués callous to the wonder, but to a stranger the sight of Paul tearing over the difficult between-tables course, his hands loaded with two vast pyramids of dishes, shouting as he went the mystic word, “Comingsarecominginamomentsaresteaksareyessarecomingsare!” was impressive to a degree. For doing far less exacting feats men on the vaudeville stage were being paid one hundred and fifty dollars a week. Paul got eight. ”