Monsieur Auguste palliated most of his conceited offensiveness on the
ground that he was _un garcon_; we on the ground that he was obviously
and unmistakably The Zulu's friend. This Young Pole, I remember, had me
design upon the wall over his _paillasse_ (shortly after his arrival) a
virile _soldat_ clutching a somewhat dubious flag--I made the latter from
descriptions furnished by Monsieur Auguste and The Young Pole
himself--intended, I may add, to be the flag of Poland. Underneath which
beautiful picture I was instructed to perpetrate the flourishing
inscription
"_Vive la Pologne_"
which I did to the best of my limited ability and for Monsieur Auguste's
sake. No sooner was the _photographie_ complete than The Young Pole,
patriotically elated, set out to demonstrate the superiority of his race
and nation by making himself obnoxious. I will give him this credit: he
was _pas mechant_, he was, in fact, a stupid boy. The Fighting Sheeney
temporarily took him down a peg by flooring him in the nightly "_Boxe_"
which The Fighting Sheeney instituted immediately upon the arrival of The
Trick Raincoat--a previous acquaintance of The Sheeney's at La Sante; the
similarity of occupations (or non-occupation; I refer to the profession
of pimp) having cemented a friendship between these two.
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