at the front—and a measurable family atmosphere that was a distinct surprise chez Pascin. In a minute we all descended to the street made more than usually noisy by the Fêtes de Montmartre then in progress and I did my share in marshalling the exuberant children among whom and the most so, was a young mulatress of about ten. As it couldn't possibly be a French party without somebody getting lost we promptly discovered that three or four of us were missing. But we soon found them. The one-eyed gentleman—whose name I never mastered—and several of the children were discovered astride the shiny fat pigs of the merry-go-round whirling in the air above our heads. Then we were re-united only to be separated again into different taxis for it seemed we were to go to the Café du Dôme for the apéritifs. The ride across town was extremely gay, made so by the children who were continually crying and waving to each other from the various vehicles and inciting the chauffeurs to race. Pascin and I had the young mulatress with us and she was enchanted that we won the race. We made a distinct sensation arriving at the Café du Dôme, and without in the least meaning to boast I think I may say that I shared the honours with the young mulatress. People did look at us. If there is receptivity for art in Paris there seems even to be plenty of this commodity for art critics and there was a constant stream of persons coming up to claim acquaintance not only with Pascin, but with me. So much so that we scarcely had a moment actually to sit and Mahonri Young who had thought perhaps he might be of service to a newcomer retired abashed after one curious glance at the young coloured person. The café terrasse was crowded with the usual early Saturday evening crowd of students, oh, so much more gaunt and hollow-cheeked than they had been two years before; or so they did seem to me, comfortable in the knowledge that I certainly was to have a dinner. This festivity took place finally in a restaurant over near the Bal Bullier and the eats and the spiritual uplift were quite all right though the one-eyed gentleman took the host to task for allowing the men to be seated at one end of the table solidly and the ladies at the other; "If there is any possible way to bungle it trust Pascin," said he, with affectionate wrath. It was this gentleman who owned the large touring car that awaited without and into which about ten of us were whisked to the Café Suédois later on, standing up or clinging to side-steps as best we could, college boy
