_Alphonse Allais, who has left an original successor in Georges Courteline, was the great joker of Paris who died in 1905, at fifty years of age. He clothes his ideas in jaunty, rakish, crisp, up-to-date style, in the language of the reporter and of the boulevards. Like most of the modern French literary aspirants, Allais made his début in the Paris journals. He wrote humorous, fantastic monologues full of life, and what the French call "verve," which is a kind of sprightly enthusiasm tempered by an original personality. He has written, besides the three-act vaudeville called "L'Innocent," in collaboration with Alfred Capus, several other plays and vaudevilles which are immensely popular with the Parisians._ [Illustration] THE TELEGRAPH OPERATOR BY ALPHONSE ALLAIS Translated by Emil Friend. Copyright, 1892, by The Current Literature Publishing Company. I stepped upon the platform at Baisenmoyen-Cert station, where my friend Lenfileur awaited me with his carriage. While on the train I suddenly recollected something that required immediate attention at Paris. Upon my arrival at Baisenmoyen-Cert, I went to the telegraph office to send back a message. This station differed from others of its class because of the total lack of writing materials. After a prolonged exploration, I finally succeeded in capturing a rusty pen, dipping it in some colorless, slimy fluid. With heroic effort I succeeded in daubing down the few words of my telegram. A decidedly unprepossessing woman grudgingly took the despatch, counted it, and named the rate, which I immediately paid. With the relieved conscience of having fulfilled a duty, I was about to walk out when my attention was attracted by a young lady at one of the tables manipulating a Morse key. With slight hauteur she turned her back toward me. Was she young? Probably. She certainly was red-haired. Was she pretty? Why not? Her simple black dress advantageously displayed a round, agreeable form; her luxuriant hair was arranged so as to reveal a few ringlets and a splendid white neck. And suddenly a mad, inexplicable desire to plant a kiss upon those golden ringlets seized me. In the expectation that the young lady would turn round, I stopped and asked the elderly woman a few questions anent telegraph affairs. Her replies were not at all friendly. The other woman, however, did not stir. Whoever supposes that I did not go to the telegraph office the next morning does not know me. The pretty, red-haired one was alone this time. Now she was compelled to show her face, and, _Sapristi!_ I could not complain. I purchased some telegraph stamps, wrote several messages, asked a number of nonsensical questions, and played the part of a chump with amazing fidelity.