"Monsieur, talks--wat you call 'im--gibberish. I 'ave not ze time to waste. Eef it ees ze watch--" "Sir," replies Tibbitts, severely, "when you announce 'English spoken,' you should speak English, or at least understand it. Good morning, or, as you don't understand the plainest English, _bong-swoir_." He had succeeded this time, and should have rested on his laurels. But Tibbittses, alas, always overdo what they undertake. He had extracted so much amusement from his first experiment that he tried it over again the next day. He entered a similar place and commenced the same thing. "What I want to know, is the Chicago & Northwestern in the railroad war, and do you suppose the cutting of rates will continue till September, when I return, and--" "Indeed I cannot tell you, sir. It is something I do not keep the run of. You had better apply at the American Exchange, or the _Herald_ office." [Sidenote: THE POLITE FRENCH.] This in the best and clearest American English. Poor Tibbitts had fallen upon a bright American who was turning his knowledge of French to account by serving as a salesman in Paris. He smiled a ghastly smile as he bowed himself out of the place. Bad marksmen who by chance hit the bull's eye, should be very modest and refuse to shoot again. Even Napoleon, great as he was, fought one battle too many. Politeness with the French is a matter of education as well as nature. The French child is taught that lesson from the beginning of its existence, and it is made a part of its life. It is the one thing that is never forgotten and lack of it is never forgiven. A shipwrecked Frenchman who could not get into a boat, as he was disappearing under the waves, raised his hat, and with such a bow as he could make under the circumstances, said, "Adieu, Mesdames; Adieu, Messieurs," and went to the fishes. I doubt not that it really occurred, for I have seen ladies splashed by a cab on a rainy day, smile politely at the driver. A race that has women of that degree of politeness can never be anything but polite. When such exasperation as splashed skirts and stockings will not ruffle them, nothing will. [Illustration: A VERY POLITE FRENCHMAN.] The children are delightful in this particular. French children do not go about clamoring for the best places and sulking if they do not get them, and talking in a rude, boisterous way. They do not take favors and attentions as a matter of course and unacknowledged. The slightest attention shown them is acknowledged by the sweetest kind of a bow--not the dancing-master's bow, but a genuine one--and the invariable "Merci, Monsieur!" or Madame, or Mademoiselle, as the case may be.