The Dodge Club Part 1

The Dodge Club.

by James De Mille.

CHAPTER I.

PARIS.--THE DODGE CLUB.--HOW TO SPEAK FRENCH.--HOW TO RAISE A CROWD.

It is a glorious day in Paris. The whole city is out in the public places, watching the departure of the army of Italy. Every imaginable uniform, on foot and on horseback, enlivens the scene. Zouaves are everywhere. Cent Gardes hurry to and fro, looking ferocious. Imperial Gardes look magnificent. Innumerable little red-legged soldiers of the line dance about, gesticulating vehemently. Grisettes hang about the necks of departing braves. A great many tears are shed, and a great deal of bombast uttered. For the invincible soldiers of France are off to fight for an idea; and doesn't every one of them carry a marshal's baton in his knapsack?

A troop of Cent Gardes comes thundering down in a cloud of dust, das.h.i.+ng the people right and left. Loud cheers arise: "Vive l'Empereur!" The hoa.r.s.e voices of myriads prolong the yell. It is Louis Napoleon. He touches his hat gracefully to the crowd.

A cha.s.seur leaps into a cab.

"Where shall I take you?"

"To Glory!" shouts the soldier.

The crowd applaud. The cabman drives off and don't want any further direction. Here a big-bearded Zouave kisses his big-bearded brother in a blouse.

"Adieu, mon frere; write me."

"Where shall I write?"

"Direct to Vienna--_poste restante_."

Every body laughs at every thing, and the crowd are quite wild at this.

A young man is perched upon a pillar near the garden wall of the Tuileries. He enjoys the scene immensely. After a while he takes a clay pipe from his pocket and slowly fills it. Having completed this business he draws a match along the stone and is just about lighting his pipe.

"Halloo!"

Down drops the lighted match on the neck of an _ouvrier_. It burns.

The man scowls up; but seeing the cause, smiles and waves his hand forgivingly.

"d.i.c.k!"

At this a young man in the midst of the crowd stops and looks around.

He is a short young man, in whose face there is a strange mixture of innocence and shrewdness. He is pulling a baby-carriage, containing a small specimen of French nationality, and behind him walks a majestic female.

The young man d.i.c.k takes a quick survey and recognizes the person who has called him. Down drops the pole of the carriage, and, to the horror of the majestic female, he darts off, and, springing up the pillar, grasps first the foot and then the hand of his friend.

"b.u.t.tons!" he cried; "what, you! you here in Paris!"

"I believe I am."

"Why, when did you come?"

"About a month ago."

"I had no idea of it. I didn't know you were here."

"And I didn't know that you were. I thought by this time that you were in Italy. What has kept you here so long?"

d.i.c.k looked confused.

"Why the fact is, I am studying German."

"German! in Paris! French, you mean."

"No, German."

"You're crazy; who with?"

d.i.c.k nodded his head toward his late companion.

"What, that woman? How she is scowling at us!"

"Is she?" said d.i.c.k, with some trepidation.

"Yes. But don't look. Have you been with her all the time?"

"Yes, seven months."

"Studying German!" cried b.u.t.tons, with a laugh. "Who is she?"

"Madame Bang."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Here I Invite My Friends.]

"Bang? Well, Madame Bang must look out for another lodger. You must come with me, young man. You need a guardian. It's well that I came in time to rescue you. Let's be off!"

And the two youths descended and were soon lost in the crowd.

"Three flights of steps are bad enough; but great Heavens! what do you mean by taking a fellow up to the eighth story?"

Such was the exclamation of d.i.c.k as he fell exhausted into a seat in a little room at the top of one of the tallest houses in Paris.

"Economy, my dear boy."

"Ehem!"