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Show THE MARRIED LIFE OF HELEN AND WARREN FOOD AND PRICES WIN WARREN'S APPROBATION By MABEL HERBERT TONER Creator of the Helen and Warren Characters. (Copyright, 1921. by Mabel Herbert Harper.) This series is a continuation of "Their Married Life," produced for four years by Mabel Herbert T'rner. "The Married Life of Helen and Warren," appearing exclusively in this paper, is the only ticries now leiiif written by Mabel Herbert Urner. "Are you sure it's on. this street?" anxioused Helen, limping along, her feet acliingly tired from a day in the I'aris .shops. 'Positive!" Warren strode ahead, irritated that bja prided sense of location had failed. Thfy'alT'vaIKJ"alTo-a)Ighe""Bout6VBrd Moat-parnassu Moat-parnassu in .1 vain search for .Jouven's a small cafe at which he was obstinately determined to dine. "Dear, what does it look like! Are there any tables out on the street!" "Yes, and it's on a corner on this side. Hello, that's it there." Hut as they drew nearer the lettering on the awning over the terraced tables was not Jouven. "Warren, this looks all right. Let's go in anyway my feet hurt " "Why the Sam Hill don't you wear sensible shoest And pet 'em big enough. " Helen's two-anda -halves were ever targets for his thrusts. Any foot weariness he invariably attributed to her too small shoes. "It looks awfully attractive in there," she urged, glimpsing the tables through the green hedge. "And they nay all these Latin Quarter restaurants are good." "Well, we're going to the one we started out for," grimly. "Duret's tips are all right, and he says it's the real thing where all the artists go. We drove past it this morning. That must be it just ahead." Again they were disappointed. That he would walk miles out of the way rather than ask anyone to direct -him, Helen knew. So now in desperation, braving his displeasure, she fluttered up to a policeman in the street. "Could you direct me to Jouven'sT It's a cafe .lou ven V JOUV KN 'S ! " The inevitable shrug proclaimed his inability to understand. Yon e.inl.l shriek itt rrrm "lil wiu'l' black ill the f.ice." growled Warren. "They never understand. Even if you ask for the Opera or the Place Vendome, if you don't get the pronunciation just right they 've never heard of it!" Then, briskly, "Perk up now it's along here somewhere." ' It was a soft, velvety night with only the leafless trees to betray that it was not midsummer. Had she not been so tired, Helen would have revelled in this long walk through the Latin Quarter, but now every step was torture. "Dear, I CAN'T go any further! Well have to go into one of these places." "Now, we're going to Jouven's. I tell you! If yon can't walk well take another cab. Here comes one now," signaling with his cane. As they got in Warren motioned the man to drive on in the same direction. To their amazed relief he asked in good English : "Where do you want to go, monsieur! Jouven's! Why, that's at the other end of the boulevard! You were going away from it." With an effort Helen refrained from any "I-told-you-so" comments. Twice she had ventured that they -might be going in the wrong direction, but Warren -had been gruffly positive they were not. "If I'd been alone I'd have foundit," savagely, as they drove off. "Hut you never can walk. You're always putting up a howl about your feet." "Oh, I know, dear, you're wonderful at finding places! You really know Paris awfully well," hoping by tactful flattery to restore his good humor. Though usually susceptible to such tributes, it was now nearing 8, and only food could alleviate his prrmc hinem . At last they drew up before the box hedge that screened the outdoor diners at Jouven's. Not a vacant sent under the awning, and they were reluctant to go inside. Just then a couple rose to leave, and they secured the table. "Oh. this is wonderful!" With a sigh of blissful comfort Helen discovered an iron bar beneath upon which to rest her feet. "And I love being right here by this hedge," hanging her gloves on a stiff sprig. As it was now late, most of the diners were sipping their coffee and liqueurs. An atmosphere of peaceful, after dinner contentment pervaded the place. Even the lights were restful, the electric bulbs under the awning subdued by orange shades. "Looks like a good brand of Burgundy." Warren was examining the label on the empty wine bottle. "Guess well try it." "What do you suppose they had in these!" Helen sniffed at a tiny brown jar. "Some kind of cheese." A waitress, radiating the French cordiality, came up to hixk off the soiled glnwii and wino stained cloth. The table reset, sKe gave them a menu written with the inevitable faint purple ink, almost illegible in the dim light. "Snails!" deciphered Warren, his bill of faro French somewhat better than his conversation, "You've been wanting to try 'em." "Oh, yes, I'd love to! How are they served!" "Can't make out yon '11 have to take a chance. II I I II I I ! I I I I Well have mushroom soup first. Jove, things are cheap here! Soup's only 60 centimes." "Why not! I tell you this place's the real thing. Just lamp this crowd! , They're not going where they get bum food." It was a typical Latin Quarter gathering. Nearby sat a man with flowing tie and velvet jacket. The girl with him, k red tam-o'-shanter drawn low on her bobbed hair, was smoking a cigarette over cer cordial. At the next table an artist, his pointed beard masking his youth, was penciling on the cloth a sketch of his companion. Even from where she sat Helen could see the cleverly exaggerated likeness. The p. -tour and windows gave a glimpse of the room inside. 1 ur long fine bar with its gleaming array of bottles, the tables, the sawdusted floor, and the walla covered wtih caricatures, evidently contributed by the habitues. After the mushroom soup, delieiously smooth and rieh, came the snails. The mouth of each spiral shell waa filled with a grerninh sauce. "In the shells!" dismayed Helen, "now do you eat thrm!" "Fork 'em out!" He drew out a long curled morsel. Conquering a slight revulsion, she followed Warren's -txampla. 1 "No, I don't like them. It must be a cultivated taste." "Then hand over yours I can stow "em away. Real delicacies, these." "Oh, dear, look! What is she going to dot" A shabby, shriveled old woman had shuffled in from the street. Bowing and smiling, she threw back the shawl from her straggling white hair. In a piping treble . she began to sing, executing a tottering measure after each verse. "Oh, how pathetic! Why do they let hert" "Guess that's the one Duret spoke of. She's been a famous opera singer. Comes around here every night to earn a few sous," diving into his pocket. After the soup they had Chatcau-Briand with a delicious Beuruauic sauce, rissole potatoes, and braised endive, delicately browned. "Jove, that's a good wine! Wonder how much!" for he had ordered it by merely tapping the empty bottle of the preceding diners. "Here it is." Helen compared the label with the wine lint on the back of the menu. "Moulin-a-Vent only 5 franca." "Must be more than that. By George, you're right. I'd like to take home a few eases at that price. Holy smoke, here's a vin ordinaire for only 65 centimes s quart!" "Oh, dear, isn't he huge!" "Fat son-of-a-gun," as an immense tortoise shell eat passed their table, haughtily disdaining the morsel Helen proffered. "All the cats are fat and sleek in Paris. Haven't you noticed! If only they were as well fed at home. Oh, what a wonderful salad!" for the waitress had brought on a large bowl of crisp chicory.- "And we'll have some of that whatever it is." Warren pointed to the small brown jars on another table. "Creme d'Isijny! Oni, oni, monsieur." "Creme d'Isijny! What in blares is that!" It proved to be a luscious, cheesy cream. Following the example of others, they powdered it with sugar and scooped it out with a spoon. "What next! Warren took np the menu. "We can afford to blow ourselves here." J'Oh, I couldn't eat another thing t That was botk a dessert and cheese." "Well, we'll have a cordial we're not going to miss that. Great Scott, look at that list! Everything from Kummel to Creme de Cassis, and nothing over 1 frane 601 How about a Kirach!" "No, that's too strong for me. Ill take an Anisette. "Enough to go on with," grinned Warren, when the waitress rolled np the wagon, bristling with bottles of "every known liqueur. "Best brands, too. Gnesa wo -ronld -sell -wtr-seats at a -pretty-good premium tn New" York, eh!" Apparently strolling poets were freqnent entertainers at the Quarter restaurants, for only casual glances greeted a long haired "type" in a ragged corduroy coat, who now appeared from the street. With a profound bow he began reciting in dramatic, gesteured French. The verses were his own, for occasion ally he glanced at his manuscript, his dark eyes glowing with poetic fervor and absinth. "Only 28 francs I" amazed Warren when the "waitress finally brought the bilL "Must be more than that 1 she's left out something." Then, checking it up, "No, it seems all right. Well, that's what I call my money's worth. Think of getting that feed for about $21" "I'm going to keep this menu," folding it np to fit her beaded bag. "We'll give this address to the Stevens when they come over next summer." "Yes, this is the real thing. These artist birds look like a lot of impractical boobs, but they know where to get good food and get it cheap." "And it's clean, too. Dear, it's really a wonderful place! I don't see how they CAN give this food at ouch prices." "Huh, the Latin Quarter won't stand for high prices. It'd take more than they spend here in a month for a plate of soup at the Costmore. These velvet coated Johnnies ought to come to. New York. They'd get the jar of their lives if they were held up by some of oar strongann restaurant pirates!" |