o happiness such as a lump of
sugar tied in a rag, and presently we sallied forth.

Lest my readers be already weary of Camus, I can only say that I am one
of those individuals who stick to old friends, either through an inborn
sense of faithfulness or, more probably, because of a tendency to
slothfulness, which makes me consider it exceedingly troublesome to
wander afield and search for pastures new. We had our dinner in quiet
enjoyment and felt, as we came out again, that the world was a very fair
sort of a dwelling-place. We had enjoyed the food and I fancy that,
under the table, my foot had beaten time to the melody eked out by the
orchestra. The fiddler, I am glad to say, is looking somewhat stouter.
The good meals provided by the widow may be responsible for this. At any
rate, I rejoice to think so, since it would go to show that a dinner at
Camus is not only a pleasant, but also a hygienic, pursuit.

For an instant our enjoyment of the music was interrupted by the clang
and clatter of passing fire engines. We looked about us, perfunctorily,
and decided that the conflagration was neither under our chairs nor
above our rafters and continued to sip our coffee with the contempt due
to a New Yorker's familiarity with steam-pumps and water towers. A
couple of minutes later we left and, reaching Sixth Avenue, found it
somewhat crowded. A block further we came to a panting engine and
hurried on. Cars were blocked by a line of hose stretched across the
street. Frances caught my arm, nervously, and a look of terror came over
her. Then we ran, Frieda puffing behind. The fire was in the middle of
the block and streams of water crashed through windows. Ladders were
going up and the firemen, conscious that it was but a moderate blaze,
from their standpoint, worked calmly and effectively.

"You stay there!" I shouted to my two companions and elbowed my way
through the crowd, which was being pushed back by policemen. One of them
seized me and threatened to use his locust on my cranium if I advanced
any farther. I drew back and dashed through another opening till I
reached Felicie's door, entering the place and nearly falling over a
large osier basket in which were piled up a lot of tangled garments.

"Take de handle!" commanded the good woman.

"The baby! Little Paul!" I shouted.

"Under the silk dress. Take de handle," she repeated.

We issued from the place, meeting with a policeman who suspected us of
unworthy motives.