A t t h e S i g n o f t h e C h e a p T a b l e d ’ H o t e

by Helen Rowland.

Illustration by E. M. Ashe.

MOKE, and spaghetti, and crimson wine,

And the laughing notes of a violin!

From the Seine, from the Loire, from the Thames, the Rhine,

Hail the guests of the cheap table d’hote—Come in!

What if your hat be a battered one?

What if your coat be a trifle thin?

There’s a chant of cheer for Bohemia’s son

At the Sign of the Cheap Table d’Hote—Come in!

Feel not your pocket, for here’s a feast,

And your fill of wine for a few mean pence—

Fish and fowl and a loaf, at least—

And all for a matter of fifty cents!

Oh, wonderful things you’ll discover there

In the midst of the clatter and smoke and din,

For Genius is child of the very air

One breathes at the cheap table d’hote—Come in!

“Oh, wonderful things you’ll discover there

In the midst of the clatter and smoke and din.”

Out of the smoke there are statues carved,

And daring dreamers their day-dreams spin;

For never a poet’s soul has starved

On the notes of a table d’hote violin.

At that table yonder, perchance, was born

A sonnet that brought the singer fame—

And there, in a jacket frayed and worn,

Nightly, a world-known painter came.

Here, once reveled a popular wit,

There, a composer, now rich and fat,

Here, a diva—just think of that!—

Flirted and laughed, ’neath a home-made hat!

Where are they now? Who knows? Alas!

Dining, perhaps, in a dinner coat,

Sipping champagne from a rich man’s glass—

For Success sits not at the table d’hote.

But what does it matter to us, I say!

This is “Going-to-be” and not “Has-been”—

The Land of “To-morrow,” not “Yesterday,”

Is the Sign of the Cheap Table d’Hote—Come in!