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Show FILIPINO SORROW. When I went down to breakfast the other morning at my hotel I found the attentive and unusually intelligent intelli-gent Filipino waiter who has served me ever since I attached myself to the hostelry sad. His eyes were bleared with salty tears and he looked down at the floor to avoid my glance of inquiry. in-quiry. "I am a few minutes late," I said to the waiter. And then: "You have been crying. What troubles you?" Again he burst into tears, and, leaning lean-ing his head against the wall, sobbed as if his heart would break. "What on earth ails you?" I asked, rather sympathetically. "Any of your relatives dead?" "No, no, senor, not that," and the waited boohooed again. "Then out with it, boy!" I exclaimed, ex-claimed, rather impatiently; out with It!" "Oh, senor," he stammered, "the pancakes are cold!" Noble muchacho, that. Isn't he? Philippine Monthly. |