Chapter 9 - Page 2

sugar,--brandy--that's it. O-t-a-r-d is brandy. Who put
these things here? What does it all mean? Don't put sugar here for show,
don't put a spoon here for ornament, nor a jug of water. There is only
one meaning to it, and that is a very polite invitation from some
invisible person to help myself, if I like, to a glass of brandy and
sugar, and if I don't like, let it alone. That's my reading. I have a
good mind to ask Doctor Franklin about it, though, for there's just a
chance I may be mistaken, and these things here be some other person's
private property, not at all meant for me to help myself from. Cologne,
what's that--never mind. Soap: soap's to wash with. I want to use soap,
anyway. Let me see--no, there's no soap on the wash-stand. I see, soap
is not given gratis here in Paris, to boarders. But if you want it, take
it from the marble, and it will be charged in the bill. If you don't
want it let it alone, and no charge. Well, that's fair, anyway. But then
to a man who could not afford to use soap, such beautiful cakes as these
lying before his eyes all the time, would be a strong temptation. And
now that I think of it, the O-t-a-r-d looks rather tempting too. But if
I don't like it now, I can let it alone. I've a good mind to try it. But
it's sealed. I wonder now if I am right in my understanding of this
alphabet? Who knows? I'll venture one little sip, anyhow. Come, cork.
Hark!"

There was a rapid knock at the door.

Clapping down the bottle, Israel said, "Come in."

It was the man of wisdom.

"My honest friend," said the Doctor, stepping with venerable briskness
into the room, "I was so busy during your visit to the Pont Neuf, that I
did not have time to see that your room was all right. I merely gave the
order, and heard that it had been fulfilled. But it just occurred to me,
that as the landladies of Paris have some curious customs which might
puzzle an entire stranger, my presence here for a moment might explain
any little obscurity. Yes, it is as I thought," glancing towards the
mantel.

"Oh, Doctor, that reminds me; what is O-t-a-r-d, pray?"

"Otard is poison."

"Shocking."

"Yes, and I think I had best remove it from the room forthwith," replied
the sage, in a business-like manner putting the bottle under his arm; "I
hope you never use Cologne, do you?"

"What--what is that, Doctor?"

"I see. You never heard of the senseless luxury--a wise ignorance. You
smelt flowers upon your mountains. You won't want this, either;" and the
Cologne bottle was put under the other arm. "Candle--you'll want that.
Soap--you want soap. Use the white cake."