and I want petrol, and I don't know whose need is
the more imperative. But if you could sell me enough petrol to carry me
to Salon I should be most grateful."

The request for petrol is not to be refused. To supply it, if possible,
is the written law of motordom. The second bear slid from his seat and
extracted a tin from the recesses of the torpedo, and stood by while
Aristide filled his tank, a process that necessitated laying the baby on
the ground. He smiled.

"You seem amused," said Aristide.

"_Parbleu!_" said the motorist. "You have at the back of your auto a
placard telling people to cure their corns, and in front you carry a
baby."

"That," replied Aristide, "is easily understood. I am the agent of the
Maison Hieropath of Marseilles, and the baby, whom I, its father, am
carrying from a dead mother to an invalid aunt, I am using as an
advertisement. As he luckily has no corns, I can exhibit his feet as a
proof of the efficacy of the corn-cure."

The bear laughed and joined his companion, and the torpedo thundered
away. Aristide replaced the baby, and with a complicated arrangement of
string fastened it securely to the seat. The baby, having ceased crying,
clutched his beard as he bent over, and "goo'd" pleasantly. The tug was
at his heart-strings. How could he give so fascinating, so valiant a
mite over to the Enfants Trouves? Besides, it belonged to him. Had he
not in jest claimed paternity? It had given him a new importance. He
could say "_mon fils_," just as he could say (with equal veracity) "_mon
automobile_." A generous thrill ran through him. He burst into a loud
laugh, clapped his hands, and danced before the delighted babe.

"_Mon petit Jean_," said he, with humorous tenderness, "for I suppose
your name is Jean; I will rend myself in pieces before I let the
Administration board you out among the wolves. You shall not go to the
Enfants Trouves. I myself will adopt you, _mon petit Jean_."

As Aristide had no fixed abode whatever, the address on his
visiting-card, "213 bis, Rue Saint-Honore, Paris," being that of an old
greengrocer woman of his acquaintance, with whom he lodged when he
visited the metropolis, there was a certain amount of rashness in the
undertaking. But when was Aristide otherwise than rash? Had prudence
been his guiding principle through life he would not have been selling
corn-cure for the Maison Hieropath, and consequently would not have
discovered the child at all.

In great