In the streets of the metropolis he is expected, when going anywhere, to hail the fast-flitting taxicab [Footnote:  Stops on signal only—­and sometimes not then.], though the residents patronize the public bus.  Indeed, the distinction is made clear to his understanding from the moment he passes the first outlying fortress at the national frontier [Footnote:  Flag station.]—­since, for the looks of things if for no better reason, he must travel first-class on the de-luxe trains [Footnote:  Diner taken off when you are about half through eating.], whereas the Frenchmen pack themselves tightly but frugally into the second-class and the third-class compartments.

Before I went to France I knew Saint Denis was the patron saint of the French; but I did not know why until I heard the legend connected with his death.  When the executioner on the hill at Montmartre cut off his head the good saint picked it up and strolled across the fields with it tucked under his arm—­so runs the tale.  His head, in that shape, was no longer of any particular value to him, but your true Parisian is of a saving disposition.  And so the Paris population have worshiped Saint Denis ever since.  Both as a saint and as a citizen he filled the bill.  He would not throw anything away, whether he needed it or not.

Paris—­not the Paris of the art lover, nor the Paris of the lover of history, nor yet again the Paris of the worth-while Parisians —­but the Paris which the casual male visitor samples, is the most overrated thing on earth, I reckon—­except alligator-pear salad —­and the most costly.  Its system of conduct is predicated, based, organized and manipulated on the principle that a foreigner with plenty of money and no soul will be along pretty soon.  Hence by day and by night the deadfall is rigged and the trap is set and baited—­baited with a spurious gayety and an imitation joyousness; but the joyousness is as thin as one coat of sizing, and the brass shines through the plating; and behind the painted, parted lips of laughter the sharp teeth of greed show in a glittering double row.  Yet gallus Mr. Fly, from the U.S.A., walks debonairly in, and out comes Monsieur Spider, ably seconded by Madame Spiderette; and between them they despoil him with the utmost dispatch.  When he is not being mulcted for large sums he is being nicked for small ones.  It is tip, brother, tip, and keep right on tipping.

I heard a story of an American who spent a month in Paris, taking in the sights and being taken in by them, and another month motoring through the country.  At length he reached the port whence he was to sail for home.  He went aboard the steamer and saw to it that his belongings were properly stored; and in the privacy of his stateroom he sat down to take an inventory of his letter of credit, now reduced to a wan and wasted specter of its once plethoric self.  In the midst of casting-up he heard the signal for departure; and so he went topside of the ship and, stationing himself on the promenade deck alongside the gang-plank, he raised his voice and addressed the assembled multitude on the pier substantially as follows: