step of the car. "Get in and let me
guide you to the only place where you can eat in this accursed town."

Before I could recover from my surprise, he was by my side in the car
shouting directions to McKeogh.

"Ah! These people!" he cried, shaking his hands with outspread fingers
in front of him. "They have no manners, no decency, no self-respect.
It's a regular trade. They go and get knocked down by automobiles on
purpose, so that they can claim indemnity. They breed dogs especially
and train them to commit suicide under the wheels so that they can get
compensation. There's one now--_ah, sacree bete!_" He leaned over the
side of the car and exchanged violent objurgation with the dog. "But
never mind. So long as I am here you can run over anything you like with
impunity."

"I'm very much obliged to you," said I. "You've saved me from a deal of
foolish unpleasantness. From the way you handled the old gentleman I
should guess you to be a doctor."

"That's one of the few things I've never been," he replied. "No; I'm not
a doctor. One of these days I'll tell you all about myself." He spoke
as if our sudden acquaintance would ripen into life-long friendship.
"There's the hotel--the Hotel Saint-Louis," he pointed to the sign a
little way up the narrow, old-world, cobble-paved street we were
entering. "Leave it to me; I'll see that they treat you properly."

The car drew up at the doorway. My electric friend leaped out and met
the emerging landlady.

"_Bonjour, madame._ I've brought you one of my very good friends,
an English gentleman of the most high importance. He will have
_dejeuner--tout ce qu'il y a de mieux_. None of your cabbage-soup and
eels and _andouilles_, but a good omelette, some fresh fish, and a bit
of very tender meat. Will that suit you?" he asked, turning to me.

"Excellently," said I, smiling. "And since you've ordered me so charming
a _dejeuner_, perhaps you'll do me the honour of helping me to eat it?"

"With the very greatest pleasure," said he, without a second's
hesitation.

We entered the small, stuffy dining-room, where a dingy waiter, with a
dingier smile, showed us to a small table by the window. At the long
table in the middle of the room sat the half-dozen frequenters of the
house, their napkins tucked under their chins, eating in gloomy silence
a dreary meal of the kind my new friend had deprecated.

"What shall we drink?" I asked, regarding with some disfavour the thin
red and whit