but a dirty, gray liquid served with rum, according to the
old French fashion, before _five-o'cloquer_ became a verb in the language.
When people ask for tea at a _Marchand des vins_, the teapot has to be
hunted up from goodness knows where; and as for the tea...! Septimus,
however, sipped the decoction of the dust of ages with his usual placidity.
He had poured himself out a second cup and was emptying into it the
remainder of the carafe of rum, so as to be ready for the toast as soon as
Hegisippe had prepared his absinthe, when a familiar voice behind him
caused him to start and drop the carafe itself into the teacup.

"Well, I'm blessed!" said the voice.

It was Clem Sypher, large, commanding, pink, and smiling. The sight of
Septimus hobnobbing with a Zouave outside a humble wine merchant's had
drawn from him the exclamation of surprise. Septimus jumped to his feet.

"My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you. Won't you sit down and join us?
Have a drink."

Sypher took off his gray Homburg hat for a moment, and wiped a damp
forehead.

"Whew! How anybody can stay in Paris this weather unless they are obliged
to is a mystery."

"Why do you stay?" asked Septimus.

"I'm not staying. I'm passing through on my way to Switzerland to look
after the Cure there. But I thought I'd look you up. I was on my way to
you. I was in Nunsmere last week and took Wiggleswick by the throat and
choked your address out of him. The Hotel Godet. It's somewhere about here,
isn't it?"

"Over there," said Septimus, with a wave of the hand. He brought a chair
from the other table. "Do sit down."

Sypher obeyed. "How's the wife?"

"The--what?" asked Septimus.

"The wife--Mrs. Dix."

"Oh, very well, thank you," he said hurriedly. "Let me introduce you to my
good friend Monsieur Hegisippe Cruchot of the Zouaves--Monsieur
Cruchot--Monsieur Clem Sypher."

Hegisippe saluted and declared his enchantment according to the manners of
his country. Sypher raised his hat politely.

"Of Sypher's Cure--Friend of Humanity. Don't forget that," he said
laughingly in French.

"_Qu'est ce que c'est que ca?_" asked Hegisippe, turning to Septimus.
Septimus explained.

"Ah-h!" cried Hegisippe, open-mouthed, the light of recognition in his
eyes. "_La Cure Sypher_!" He made it rhyme with "prayer." "But I know that
well. And it is Monsieur who fabricates _ce machin-la_?"

"Yes; the Friend of Humanity. What have you used it for?"

"For my heels when