Her
manager listened impatiently, for our conversation interrupted his
routine; he then took his oath that she was not padded, and bade her
exhibit her leg. She did so, and it was like the mast of a ship.
I dropped five cents into her plate and passed on to Mlle. Jeanne. The
Princess had been large enough; Mlle. Jeanne was larger. She wore
her panoply of flesh less like a flower than did her rival. Her
expression was less placid; she panted distressfully as she fanned
her bulk. But in conversation she relaxed. She too was happy, except
in such heat. She neither rode a bicycle nor walked--save two or
three steps. As her name indicated, she too was unmarried, although,
her manager interjected, few wives could make a better omelette. But
men are cowards, and such fortresses very formidable.
As we talked, the manager, who had entered the booth as blase an
entrepreneur as the Continent holds, showed signs of animation. In
time he grew almost enthusiastic and patted Mlle.'s arms with pride. He
assisted her to exhibit her leg quite as though its glories were also
his. The Princess's leg had been like the mast of a ship; this was
like the trunk of a Burnham beech.
And here, at Flushing, we leave the country. I should have liked to
have steamed down the Scheldt to Antwerp on one of the ships that
continually pass, if only to be once more among the friendly francs
with their noticeable purchasing power, and to saunter again through
the Plantin Museum among the ghosts of old printers, and to stand for
a while in the Museum before Van Eyck's delicious drawing of Saint
Barbara.
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