A FOOL AND HIS MONEY -

We were Father and Daughter. We were on summer vacation together for the first time without the rest of the family and it felt special. We were traveling light, dressed in summer clothes; shorts and light shirts, with very little baggage. That morning we had landed in Brussels and the train had brought us south, across the rolling fields of northern France, to Paris. Here we would spend two days before leaving by the 'Trs Grande Vitsse' train for Lyons, where I was to attend a scientific conference.

It was late when we arrived. I had made reservations at a small hotel close to Gare St. Lazare and, despite being tired; I decided to take the metro rather than a taxi, to show my daughter, Jennifer, the system. I regretted the choice almost immediately. Our two suitcases had been invisible during our flight, and carried for us to the train, but now they had emerged as cumbersome nuisances. Jennifer carried our other miscellaneous bags while I struggled with my camera and the cases.

From Gare du Nord we had change at 'L'Opra' to the St. Lazare line. We made our way down through the maze of tunnels and stairways following the 'Mairie D'Ivry' direction, past a legless guitar player who filled the subterranean chambers with glorious Parisian airs, to emerge onto a brightly lit platform to wait for our train. The station had been renovated since I had seen it last. The lights were bright and clean, the walls of the station were clean white tile, and the brightly colored adverts were - French. The language began to return to me after years of disuse as I repeated some of the words - "Les cabarets de Montmartre et Pigalle -"

There was an air of gaiety too about the waiting late-night crowd. A young man and his girl were in a close embrace on a bench. He seemed to be kissing her in a much more Parisian style than he could have achieved in Washington D.C. Music was playing softly from a small radio carried by another young girl and it seemed to harmonize with the distance sound of the guitar. The cases didn't seem quite so heavy in this atmosphere.

At the end of the platform there was a group of young men kidding each other. They were the same group that had followed us down past the guitarist. In London their dress might have been odd - here it fitted in to my idea of a Parisian scene - casual with a touch of flamboyance. One of them was wearing a handkerchief in his jacket pocket. They were all in their earlier teens - about six

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