FIGHTING THE INSECTS 



many tables, and the floor was uncarpeted and sanded. Bero 

 himself was a well-known character in New Orleans, and a man 

 of considerable weight in the community. He gave me a room 

 in a building adjoining the restaurant, and I took all of my 

 meals with him, to the great improvement of my poor college 

 French. I spent a very enjoyable and improving month, and a 

 large share of my pleasure was due to Victor Bero. 



Fifteen or sixteen years later I entered New Orleans from the 

 west. I had with me three travelling companions whom I had 

 met on the through train from California. We reached the city 

 about nine o'clock at night, registered at the St. Charles Hotel, 

 and then went around to Victor's restaurant to dine. The table 

 d'hote dinner was over, and so, with the consent of my com- 

 panions, I asked Victor to get us up something nice. And he 

 did. There was an inimitable French soup, a broiled red snapper, 

 a canvasback duck, a wonderful salad and an ice. And there 

 were some excellent white and red wines as well, followed by 

 coffee and cognac. I asked for the bill (mind you there were 

 four of us), and when Victor himself brought it (it was twelve 

 dollars) two of my companions (not very well-bred men) 

 protested rather vociferously about the amount. Victor shrugged 

 his shoulders and said calmly, "You will pay me nothing," and 

 walked back to his desk. I rushed after him, explained the men 

 were not friends of mine but simply compagnons de voyage, 

 and insisted on paying the bill. 



Victor made money. He bought a farm, on which he raised 

 his own poultry and vegetables for his restaurant, and he bought 

 a hotel, which he managed on the side. But his health failed, 

 and he died. Some years afterward, I went to New Orleans 

 again, and of course to the old place on Bourbon Street. It 

 was greatly changed. More tables had been put in, and the 

 sanded floors no longer existed. The room was filled with 



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