Here was Mr. Thompkins in Paris, and unless he were wisely guided he would leave without seeing the city,--except those parts and phases of it that tourists cannot keep from stumbling over. It would be both a duty and a pleasure to introduce him to certain things of which he might otherwise die in ignorance, to the eternal undevelopment of his soul. But here was the rub: Would Mr. Thompkins care to be so radically different here for one night--just one night--from what he was at home? I could not see how any harm could come to Mr. Thompkins or any one else with sense, nor how Bishop could possibly entertain him in anyway that would be disagreeable to a man of brains. But Bishop was evidently keeping something back. For that matter, he never did explain it, and I have not bothered about inferences. What Mr. Thompkins was at home I do not know. True, he was very much confused and embarrassed a number of times during the evening, but one thing I know,--he enjoyed himself immensely. And that makes me say that no matter what he was at home, he was a gentleman and philosopher while exploring an outlandish phase of Parisian Bohemian life that night under our guidance. He had a prim, precise way of talking, and was delightfully innocent and unworldly. My! it would have been a sin for him to miss what he saw that night. So I told Bishop very emphatically that no matter what Mr. Thompkins was at home, nobody who knew him was likely to see him in Paris at that time of the year, and that it was Bishop's duty as a friend to initiate him. Bishop was very happy over my advice; but when he insisted that we should take a cab for the evening's outing, I sternly reminded him of the bruises that our funds would receive on New Year's, and thus curbed his extravagance. He surrendered with a pang, for after all his preparation he felt like a duke, and for that night, while entertaining his friend, he wanted to be a duke, not a grubbing student. We met Mr. Thompkins at the hotel, and I found him a delightful man, with a pleasant sparkle of the eye and a certain stiffness of bearing. It was his intention to have us dine with him, but Bishop gently took him in hand, and gradually gave him to understand that on this night in a lifetime he was in the hands of his friends, to do as they said, and to ask no questions. Mr. Thompkins looked a little puzzled, a little apprehensive, and withal not unwilling to be sacrificed. The first thing we did was to introduce Mr. Thompkins to a quiet restaurant famous for its coquilles St.-Jacques; it is in the old Palais Royal. This is the dinner that Bishop ordered: Huîtres Portugaises. Sauterne. Médoc. Consommé. Coquilles St.-Jacques. Macaroni à la Milanaise. Filet de bouf. Pommes nouvelles sautées. Crème petit Suisse. Eclairs. Café.