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Updated: May 23, 2025
Little Patou, like a double-tailed serpent rearing himself upright on his tail tips, appeared at first a creature remote, of some antediluvian race until he talked a familiar, disarming patter with his human, disarming grin. The Great Patapon, contrary to jealous anticipation, saw himself welcomed as a contrast and received more than his usual meed of applause.
Ironical Bakkus began to hum the old nursery song: Il etait une bergere Et ron, ron, ron, petit patapon. Suddenly he stopped. "By George! I have it! The names that will epater the English bourgeois. Ron-ron-ron and Petit Patapon. I'll be Ron-ron-ron and you'll be dear little Patapon."
His French instinct guiding him, he rejected Patapon. Bakkus found Ron-ron an unmeaning appellation. At last they settled it. They printed it out in capital letters. So it came to pass that a board thus inscribed in front of their simple installation on the sands advertised their presence.
As the English seaside public, however, when he came to think of it, have never heard of the shepherdess who guarded her muttons and still less of the refrain which illustrated her history, he realized that the names as they stood would be ineffective. Ron-ron and Patapon therefore would they be. But Andrew, remembering Elodie's wise counsel, stuck to the "petit."
You only have to open your mouth and you get your lungs filled with them. It's a pestilential country and I've done with it." "All right," replied Andrew, "I'll run the show on my own." But the Palladium syndicate, willing to book "The Great Patapon and Little Patou" for a further term, declined to rebook Little Patou by himself.
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