sunshine sketches of a little town-第5部分

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timber；　and　two…by…eight　pine　joists　kept　arriving　from　the　planing
mill。　There　was　a　pile　of　matched　spruce　sixteen　feet　high　lying　by
the　sidewalk。

Then　the　excavation　deepened　and　the　dirt　flew；　and　the　beams　went　up
and　the　joists　across；　and　all　the　day　from　dawn　till　dusk　the
hammers　of　the　carpenters　clattered　away；　working　overtime　at　time
and　a　half。

〃It　don't　matter　what　it　costs；〃　said　Mr。　Smith；　〃get　it　done。〃

Rapidly　the　structure　took　form。　It　extended　down　the　side　street；
joining　the　hotel　at　a　right　angle。　Spacious　and　graceful　it　looked
as　it　reared　its　uprights　into　the　air。

Already　you　could　see　the　place　where　the　row　of　windows　was　to　come；
a　veritable　palace　of　glass；　it　must　be；　so　wide　and　commodious　were
they。　Below　it；　you　could　see　the　basement　shaping　itself；　with　a　low
ceiling　like　a　vault　and　big　beams　running　across；　dressed；　smoothed；
and　ready　for　staining。　Already　in　the　street　there　were　seven　crates
of　red　and　white　awning。

And　even　then　nobody　knew　what　it　was；　and　it　was　not　till　the
seventeenth　day　that　Mr。　Smith；　in　the　privacy　of　the　back　bar；　broke
the　silence　and　explained。

〃I　tell　you；　boys；〃　he　says；　〃it's　a　cafflike　what　they　have　in　the
citya　ladies'　and　gent's　caff；　and　that　underneath　（what's　yours；
Mr。　Mullins？）　is　a　Rats'　Cooler。　And　when　I　get　her　started；　I'll
hire　a　French　Chief　to　do　the　cooking；　and　for　the　winter　I　will　put
in　a　'girl　room；'　like　what　they　have　in　the　city　hotels。　And　I'd
like　to　see　who's　going　to　close　her　up　then。〃

Within　two　more　weeks　the　plan　was　in　operation。　Not　only　was　the
caff　built　but　the　very　hotel　was　transformed。　Awnings　had　broken
out　in　a　red　and　white　cloud　upon　its　face；　its　every　window　carried
a　box　of　hanging　plants；　and　above　in　glory　floated　the　Union　Jack。
The　very　stationery　was　changed。　The　place　was　now　Smith's　Summer
Pavilion。　It　was　advertised　in　the　city　as　Smith's　Tourists'
Emporium；　and　Smith's　Northern　Health　Resort。　Mr。　Smith　got　the
editor　of　the　Times…Herald　to　write　up　a　circular　all　about　ozone　and
the　Mariposa　pine　woods；　with　illustrations　of　the　maskinonge　（piscis
mariposis）　of　Lake　Wissanotti。

The　Saturday　after　that　circular　hit　the　city　in　July；　there　were　men
with　fishing　rods　and　landing　nets　pouring　in　on　every　train；　almost
too　fast　to　register。　And　if；　in　the　face　of　that；　a　few　little　drops
of　whiskey　were　sold　over　the　bar；　who　thought　of　it？

But　the　caff！　that；　of　course；　was　the　crowning　glory　of　the　thing；
that　and　the　Rats'　Cooler　below。

Light　and　cool；　with　swinging　windows　open　to　the　air；　tables　with
marble　tops；　palms；　waiters　in　white　coatsit　was　the　standing
marvel　of　Mariposa。　Not　a　soul　in　the　town　except　Mr。　Smith；　who　knew
it　by　instinct；　ever　guessed　that　waiters　and　palms　and　marble　tables
can　be　rented　over　the　long　distance　telephone。

Mr。　Smith　was　as　good　as　his　word。　He　got　a　French　Chief　with　an
aristocratic　saturnine　countenance；　and　a　moustache　and　imperial　that
recalled　the　late　Napoleon　III。　No　one　knew　where　Mr。　Smith　got　him。
Some　people　in　the　town　said　he　was　a　French　marquis。　Others　said　he
was　a　count　and　explained　the　difference。

No　one　in　Mariposa　had　ever　seen　anything　like　the　caff。　All　down
the　side　of　it　were　the　grill　fires；　with　great　pewter　dish　covers
that　went　up　and　down　on　a　chain；　and　you　could　walk　along　the　row
and　actually　pick　out　your　own　cutlet　and　then　see　the　French　marquis
throw　it　on　to　the　broiling　iron；　you　could　watch　a　buckwheat　pancake
whirled　into　existence　under　your　eyes　and　see　fowls'　legs　devilled；
peppered；　grilled；　and　tormented　till　they　lost　all　semblance　of　the
original　Mariposa　chicken。

Mr。　Smith；　of　course；　was　in　his　glory。

〃What　have　you　got　to…day；　Alf？〃　he　would　say；　as　he　strolled　over　to
the　marquis。　The　name　of　the　Chief　was；　I　believe　Alphonse；　but　〃Alf〃
was　near　enough　for　Mr。　Smith。

The　marquis　would　extend　to　the　proprietor　the　menu；　〃Voila；　m'sieu；
la　carte　du　jour。〃

Mr。　Smith；　by　the　way；　encouraged　the　use　of　the　French　language　in
the　caff。　He　viewed　it；　of　course；　solely　in　its　relation　to　the
hotel　business；　and；　I　think；　regarded　it　as　a　recent　invention。

〃It's　comin'　in　all　the　time　in　the　city；〃　he　said；　〃and　y'aint
expected　to　understand　it。〃

Mr。　Smith　would　take　the　carte　between　his　finger　and　thumb　and　stare
at　it。　It　was　all　covered　with　such　devices　as　Potage　la
MariposaFilet　Mignon　a　la　proprietaireCotellete　a　la　Smith；　and
so　on。

But　the　greatest　thing　about　the　caff　were　the　prices。　Therein
lay；　as　everybody　saw　at　once；　the　hopeless　simplicity　of　Mr。　Smith。

The　prices　stood　fast　at　25　cents　a　meal。　You　could　come　in　and　eat
all　they　had　in　the　caff　for　a　quarter。

〃No；　sir；〃　Mr。　Smith　said　stoutly；　〃I　ain't　going　to　try　to　raise　no
prices　on　the　public。　The　hotel's　always　been　a　quarter　and　the
caff's　a　quarter。〃

Full？　Full　of　people？

Well；　I　should　think　so！　From　the　time　the　caff　opened　at　11　till　it
closed　at　8。30；　you　could　hardly　find　a　table。　Tourists；　visitors；
travellers；　and　half　the　people　of　Mariposa　crowded　at　the　little
tables；　crockery　rattling；　glasses　tinkling　on　trays；　corks　popping；
the　waiters　in　their　white　coats　flying　to　and　fro；　Alphonse　whirling
the　cutlets　and　pancakes　into　the　air；　and　in　and　through　it　all；　Mr。
Smith；　in　a　white　flannel　suit　and　a　broad　crimson　sash　about　his
waist。　Crowded　and　gay　from　morning　to　night；　and　even　noisy　in　its
hilarity。

Noisy；　yes；　but　if　you　wanted　deep　quiet　and　cool；　if　you　wanted　to
step　from　the　glare　of　a　Canadian　August　to　the　deep　shadow　of　an
enchanted　glade；walk　down　below　into　the　Rats'　Cooler。　There　you
had　it；　dark　old　beams　（who　could　believe　they　were　put　there　a　month
ago？）；　great　casks　set　on　end　with　legends　such　as　Amontillado　Fino
done　in　gilt　on　a　black　ground；　tall　steins　filled　with　German　beer
soft　as　moss；　and　a　German　waiter　noiseless　as　moving　foam。　He　who
entered　the　Rats'　Cooler　at　three　of　a　summer　afternoon　was　buried
there　for　the　day。　Mr。　Golgotha　Gingham　spent　anything　from　four　to
seven　hours　there　of　every　day。　In　his　mind　the　place　had　all　the
quiet　charm　of　an　interment；　with　none　of　its　sorrows。

But　at　night；　when　Mr。　Smith　and　Billy；　the　desk　clerk；　opened　up　the
cash　register　and　figured　out　the　combined　losses　of　the　caff　and　the
Rats'　Cooler；　Mr。　Smith　would　say：

〃Billy；　just　wait　till　I　get　the　license　renood；　and　I'll　close　
up　this　damn　caff　so　tight　they'll　never　know　what　hit　her。
What　did　that　lamb　cost？　Fifty　cents　a　pound；　was　it？　I　figure　it；
Billy；　that　every　one　of　them　hogs　eats　about　a　dollar's　worth　a　grub
for　every　twenty…five　cents　they　pay　on　it。　As　for　Alfby　gosh；　I'm
through　with　him。〃

But　that；　of　course；　was　only　a　confidential　matter　as　between　Mr。
Smith　and　Billy。

I　don't　know　at　what　precise　period　it　was　that　the　idea　of　a
petition　to　the　License　Commissioners　first　got　about　the　town。　No
one　seemed　to　know　just　who　suggested　it。　But　certain　it　was　that
public　opinion　began　to　swing　strongly　towards　the　support　of　Mr。
Smith。　I　think　it　was　perhaps　on　the　day　after　the　big　fish　dinner
that　Alphonse　cooked　for　the　Mariposa　Canoe　Club　（at　twenty　cents　a
head）　that　the　feeling　began　to　find　open　expression。　People　said　it
was　a　shame　that　a　man　like　Josh　Smith　should　be　run　out　of　Mariposa
by　three　license　commissioners。　Who　were　the　license　commissioners；
anyway？　Why；　look　at　the　license　system　they　had　in　Sweden；　yes；　and
in　Finland　and　in　South　America。　Or；　for　the　matter　of　that；　look　at
the　French　and　Italians；　who　drink　all　day　and　all　night。　Aren't　they
all　right？　Aren't　they　a　musical　people？　Take　Napoleon；　and　Victor
Hugo；　drunk　half　the　time；　and　yet　look　what　they　did。

I　quote　these　arguments　not　for　their　own　sake；　but　merely　to
indicate　the　changing　temper　of　public　opinion　in　Mariposa。　Men　would
sit　in　the　caff　at　lunch　perhaps　for　an　hour　and　a　half　and　talk
about　the　license　question　in　general；　and　then　go　down　into　the
Rats'　Cooler　and　talk　about　it　for　two　hours　more。

It　was　amazing　the　way　the　light　broke　in　in　the　case　of　particular
individuals；　often　the　most　unlikely；　and　quelled　their　opposition。

Take；　for　example；　the　editor　of　the　Newspacket。　I　suppose　there
wasn't　a　greater　temperance　advocate　in　town。　Yet　Alphonse　queered
him　with　an　Omelette　a　la　License　in　one　meal。

Or　take　Pepperleigh　himself；　the　judge　of　the　Mariposa　court。　He　was
put　to　the　bad　with　a　game　pie；pate　normand　aux　fines　herbesthe
real　thing；　as　good　as　a　trip　to　Paris　in　itself。　After　eating　it；
Pepperleigh　had　the　common　sense　to　realize　that　it　was　sheer　madness
to　destroy　a　hotel　that　could　cook　a　thing　like　that。

In　the　same　way；　the　secretary　of　the　School　Board　was　silenced　with
a　stuffed　duck　a　la　Ossawippi。

Three　members　of　the　town　council　were　converted　with　a　Dindon　farci
a　la　Josh　Smith。

And　then；　finally；　Mr。　Diston　persuaded　Dean　Drone　to　come；　and　as
soon　as　Mr。　Smith　and　Alphonse　saw　him　they　landed　him　with　a　fried
flounder　that　even　the　apostles　would　have　appreciated。

After　that；　every　one　knew　that　the　license　question　was　practically
settled。　The　petition　was　all　over　the　town。　It　was　printed　in
duplicate　at　the　Newspacket　and　you　could　see　it　lying　on　the　counter
of　every　shop　in　Mariposa。　Some　of　the　people　signed　it　twenty　or
thirty　times。

It　was　the　right　kind　of　document　too。　It　began〃Whereas　in　the
bounty　of　providence　the　earth　putteth　forth　her　luscious　fruits　and
her　vineyards　for　the　delight　and　enjoyment　of　mankind〃　It　made　you
thirsty　just　to　read　it。　Any　man　who　read　that　petition　over　was　wild
to　get　to　the　Rats'　Cooler。

When　it　was　all　signed　up　they　had　nearly　three　thousand　names　on　it。

Then　Nivens；　the　lawyer；　and　Mr。　Gingham　（as　a　provincial　official）
took　it　down　to　the　county　town；　and　by　three　o'clock　that　afternoon
the　news　had　gone　out　from　the　long　distance　telephone　office　that
Smith's　license　was　renewed　for　three　years。

Rejoicings！　Well；　I　should　think　so！　Everybody　was　down　wanting　to
shake　hands　with　Mr。　Smith。　They　told　him　that　he　had　done　more　to
boom　Mariposa　than　any　ten　men　in　town。　Some　of　them　said　h