pping habit is just as bad
in America as in France, but he says in America the servant acts as
though he never had such a thought as getting a tip, and when you give
him a quarter or other tip he looks puzzled, as though he did not just
recall what he had done to merit such treatment, but finally puts the
money in his pocket with an air as though he would accept it in trust,
to be given to some deserving person at the first opportunity, and then
he smiles, and gets away, and blows in the tip for something wet and
strong.

I told dad if he would just ignore the servants, as though he did not
understand that they expected a tip, that he would be all right, so when
we got ready to move from the hotel to private rooms dad never gave any
servant a tip. Well, I don't know what the servants did to our baggage,
but they must have marked it with a smallpox sign, or something, for
nobody would touch it for several hours, but finally a baggage man took
it and started for our apartments, and got lost and didn't show up for
two days, and when it was finally landed on the sidewalk nobody would
carry it upstairs, and dad and I had to lug it up two flights, and I
thought dad would have apoplexy.

[Illustration: Coughs up a tip every time 143]

We found a guide who could talk New Orleans English and he said it would
cost three dollars to square it with the servants at the hotel, and have
the boycott removed from our baggage, and dad paid it, and now he coughs
up a tip every time he sees a servant look at him. He pays when he goes
in a restaurant and when he comes out, and says he is cured of trying to
reform the customs of anybody else's country.

We have engaged a guide to stay with us day and night. The guide took
us out for a bat last night, and dad had the time of his life. Dad has
drank a good deal of spiritous and malt liquors in his time, but I don't
think he ever indulged much in champagne at three or four dollars a
bottle at home. Maybe he has been saving himself up till he got over
here, where champagne is cheap and it takes several quarts to make you
see angels. The guide took us to one of these bullyvards, where there
are tables out on the sidewalk, and you can eat and drink and look at
the dukes and counts and dutchesses and things promenading up and down,
flirting like sin, and we sat down to a table and ordered things to eat
and drink, and dad looked like Uncle Sam, and felt his oats.

[Illustration: A tone of voice