Lamuse was a farm-servant, Paradis a carter.
Cadilhac, whose helmet rides loosely on his pointed head, though it
is a juvenile size--like a dome on a steeple, says Tirette--owns
land. Papa Blaire was a small farmer in La Brie. Barque, porter and
messenger, performed acrobatic tricks with his carrier-tricycle
among the trains and taxis of Paris, with solemn abuse (so they say)
for the pedestrians, fleeing like bewildered hens across the big
streets and squares. Corporal Bertrand, who keeps himself always a
little aloof, correct, erect, and silent, with a strong and handsome
face and forthright gaze, was foreman in a case-factory. Tirloir
daubed carts with paint--and without grumbling, they say. Tulacque
was barman at the Throne Tavern in the suburbs; and Eudore of the
pale and pleasant face kept a roadside cafe not very far from
the front lines. It has been ill-used by the shells--naturally, for
we all know that Eudore has no luck. Mesnil Andre, who still
retains a trace of well-kept distinction, sold bicarbonate and
infallible remedies at his pharmacy in a Grande Place. His brother
Joseph was selling papers and illustrated story-books in a station
on the State Railways at the same time that, in far-off Lyons,
Cocon, the man of spectacles and statistics, dressed in a black
smock, busied himself behind the counters of an ironmongery, his
hands glittering with plumbago; while the lamps of Becuwe
Adolphe and Poterloo, risen with the dawn, trailed about the
coalpits of the North like weakling Will-o'-th'-wisps.
Pages:
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41