g at all. Naturally a twenty-five-franc
coat is much better. For twenty-five francs you get a superior quality,
as strong as linen, and which wears even better. If it gets wet a little
ironing will fix it right up. The color never fades, and it does not
turn red in the sunlight. It is the warmest and lightest material out."
He unfolded his wares, holding them up, shaking them, crumpling and
stretching them in order to show the excellent quality of the cloth. He
talked on convincingly, dispelling all hesitation by words and gesture.
Patissot was convinced; he bought the coat. The pleasant salesman, still
talking, tied up the bundle and continued praising the value of the
purchase. When it was paid for he was suddenly silent. He bowed with
a superior air, and, holding the door open, he watched his customer
disappear, both arms filled with bundles and vainly trying to reach his
hat to bow.

M. Patissot returned home and carefully studied the map. He wished to
try on his shoes, which were more like skates than shoes, owing to the
spikes. He slipped and fell, promising himself to be more careful in the
future. Then he spread out all his purchases on a chair and looked at
them for a long time. He went to sleep with this thought: "Isn't
it strange that I didn't think before of taking an excursion to the
country?"

During the whole week Patissot worked without ambition. He was dreaming
of the outing which he had planned for the following Sunday, and he was
seized by a sudden longing for the country, a desire of growing
tender over nature, this thirst for rustic scenes which overwhelms the
Parisians in spring time.

Only one person gave him any attention; it was a silent old copying
clerk named Boivin, nicknamed Boileau. He himself lived in the country
and had a little garden which he cultivated carefully; his needs were
small, and he was perfectly happy, so they said. Patissot was now able
to understand his tastes and the similarity of their ideals made them
immediately fast friends. Old man Boivin said to him:

"Do I like fishing, monsieur? Why, it's the delight of my life!"

Then Patissot questioned him with deep interest. Boivin named all the
fish who frolicked under this dirty water--and Patissot thought he could
see them. Boivin told about the different hooks, baits, spots and times
suitable for each kind. And Patissot felt himself more like a fisherman
than Boivin himself. They decided that the following Sunday they