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He was a Norwegian, a stoker on a ship. "You mustn't mind that feller that wanted you to sweep. He's crazy. They call him John the Baigneur. He used to be the bathman. Now he's Maitre de Chambre. They wanted me to take it I said, 'F it, I don't want it. Let him have it. That's no kind of a job, everyone complaining and on top of you morning till night.
The old baigneur of the place, owner of the still primitive établissement des bains, without stopping to strip, or even to take off his heavy boots, went out to the man in danger with a plank. The man took the plank and was safe. Then to the people watching, it became evident that the baigneur himself was in peril. He became unaccountably feeble in the water, and the cry rose that he was sinking.
"Com-pag-nie ..." then, as he went through the manual, holding his imaginary gun "htt, htt, htt." Then as the officer commending his troops: "Bon. Tres bon. Tres bien fait" laughing with head thrown back and teeth aglitter at his own success. John le Baigneur was so tremendously amused that he gave up sleeping to watch. L'armee drew a crowd of admirers from every side.
The old baigneur of the place, owner of the still primitive établissement des bains, without stopping to strip, or even to take off his heavy boots, went out to the man in danger with a plank. The man took the plank and was safe. Then to the people watching, it became evident that the baigneur himself was in peril. He became unaccountably feeble in the water, and the cry arose that he was sinking.
'Let them that wants the job take it' I said. That crazy Dutchman's been here for two years. They took it away from John and give it to that little Ree-shar feller, that doctor. That was a swell job he had, baigneur, too. All the bloody liquor you can drink and a girl every time you want one. He ain't never had a girl in his life, that Ree-shar feller." His laughter was hard, clear, cynical.
"The bloody fool's lost his knife," was Fritz's answer. After completing his rounds The Clever Man searched almost everyone except ourselves and Fritz, and absolutely subsided on his own paillasse muttering occasionally "if he found it" what he'd do. I think he never did find it. It was a "beautiful" knife, John the Baigneur said. "What did it look like?" I demanded with some curiosity.
He demanded in wrathy French "Who took you to the douches?" For a moment I was at a complete loss then Fritz's remark about the new baigneur flashed through my mind: "Ree-shar" I answered calmly. The bull snorted satisfactorily. "Get into the cour and hurry up about it" he ordered. "C'est par la?" I inquired politely.
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