Where the Sabots Clatter Again | Page 6

the silvery waving hair, was
placed at a careful angle a blue callot. He was dressed in that agreeable
soft blue that distinguishes the garments of those who work out of

doors, and a spotless white shirt was turned back at the throat.
"Bonjour, Mesdames," he greeted us, taking off his cap and came up for
a chat. We were amazed at his charm and intelligence. He had come
back thus alone "because, Mademoiselle, this is my home. An old man
can best serve his country by living off his own land. What good is he
in a strange province where they eat such ridiculous things, and where
everyone has the craze for machinery? Besides, the more one's home is
ruined the greater the obligation to return and rebuild it. C'est un devoir,
Mademoiselle." His place was here, unless--with a twinkle in my
direction--Mademoiselle would take him back to America with her, in
which case he would willingly leave. I laughed at the compliment and
told him to name the day and the boat.
Food? He had scratched a little garden by his door and had plenty,
thank you. Clothing? "Do I not look well dressed, Mademoiselle?" We
admitted that he looked ready for a fête. Company? "Ah, Mademoiselle,
memories, memories! I smoke my pipe and I repeople this village. It is
alive for me. Look, Mademoiselle, that is where the church was--it was
a pretty church. And there was the mairie. Only"--with a shrug of good
humored despair--"now I have no more tobacco. These
messieurs"--indicating the soldier and the Germans who were smiling
good naturedly--"are kind enough to share theirs with me, but they are
not very rich themselves, you see," at which they all laughed at their
common plight. Here at last was something that we could offer. I
usually kept cigarettes with me for such emergencies. And now I
produced two boxes of them and several packages of American
matches.
"Mademoiselle, I accept them with my profound thanks," said the old
gallant with a bow, removing his cap.
At length we had to leave. A prisoner stepped forward to crank my car,
and all of them, the dauntless Frenchman in the center, lined up and
gave us the military salute. Before reentering the woods I looked back
and saw the blue-coated figure offering a light to the green coat. From
cigarette tip to cigarette tip the fraternal spark was being transmitted:
the spark that crosses borders and nationalities, that glows in the

darkness, and puts mankind at peace. And so we left them all--smoking;
smoking out there in the ruins, smoking and dreaming of home. Of
home and love unattainable beyond the Rhine; of home and love buried
forever in the wreckage of war and of time.
* * * * *
This week Mademoiselle Froissart and I spent forty-eight hours in Paris,
during which time we purchased one thousand toys for our Christmas
party. Such a time as I had coralling a taxi to carry our large crate of
playthings to the station. Paris was gay and crowded, making up for its
four years of gravity, and the conscienceless taxi drivers were having
pretty much their own way, refusing all that were going in a direction
that did not suit their convenience, and extorting enormous pour boire.
I stood on the edge of the mad stream of vehicles that pressed by on the
boulevard, and watched for an empty taxi. One came, the old reprobate
who drove it casting his practiced eye about for a likely looking
customer. He deigned to notice me, recognizing me for an American,
and well knowing our national childish impatience, and its lucrative
consequences. He drove up to the curb.
"Where to?" he asked defiantly, blinking his bleary eyes, his red
alcoholic face set in insolent lines.
"La Gare du Nord."
He reflected an instant. "Bon," he decided. I got in, resolving to take
possession before breaking all the news to him.
"First I must stop at the Grand Bazaar to call for a box," I said in a
most matter-of-fact way.
"Ah ça! non! It can't be done!" he exclaimed in a fury. "How do you
expect me to earn my living if I have to go out of my way and wait a
century outside a store?"
"I will pay you for your time."

Still he refused to move. "Déscendez, déscendez!" he cried in an ugly
voice. I knew the next one would be just as bad, and besides I had no
time to lose. The hour of the train was approaching. Basely I resorted to
bribery: "Look here, Monsieur, I am American and I will pay you well.
Did you ever know an American to fail to make it worth your while?"
He considered, and looked me over appraisingly.
"It will