In the Quarter | Page 9

knees of his trousers with his
handkerchief. "Monsieur is a foreigner?"
Gethryn smiled. "The accent?"
"On the contrary, I assure you, Monsieur," cried the officer with more
politeness than truth. He eyed the ambulance. "The people of Paris
have learned a lesson today," he said.
A trooper clattered up, leading an officer's horse, and dismounted,
saluting. The young surgeon glanced at his watch.
"Picard," he said, "stop a closed cab and send it here."
The trooper wheeled his horse and galloped away across the square,
and the officer turned to the others.
"Madame, I trust, will soon recover," he said courteously. "Madame,
messieurs, I have the honor to salute you." And with many a clink and

jingle, he sprang into the saddle and clattered away in the wake of the
slowly moving ambulance.
At the corner of the Rue Royale, Gethryn saw the trooper stop a cab
and point to the Obelisk. He went over and asked the canary-colored
stranger, "Will you take her home, or shall I?"
"Why, you, of course; you brought her here."
"No, I didn't. I never saw her until I noticed her being pushed about by
the crowd." He caught the girl's eye and colored furiously, hoping she
did not suspect the nature of their discussion. Before her helplessness it
seemed so brutal.
The cab drew up before the Obelisk and a gruff voice cried, "V'la!
M'ssieurs! -- 'dames!"
"Put your arm on my shoulder -- so," said Gethryn, and the two men
raised her gently. Once in the cab, she sank back, looking limp and
white. Gethryn turned sharply to the other man.
"Shall I go?"
"Rather," replied the little stranger, pleasantly.
Opening his coat in haste, he produced a square of pasteboard. "My
card," he said, offering one to Gethryn, who bowed and fumbled in his
pockets. As usual, his card-case was in another coat.
"I'm sorry I have none," he said at length, "but my name is Reginald
Gethryn, and I shall give myself the pleasure of calling to thank you for
-- "
"For nothing," laughed the other, "excepting for the sketch, which you
may have when you come to see me."
"Thanks, and au revoir," glancing at the card. "Au revoir, Mr Bulfinch."
He was giving the signal to the cabby when his new acquaintance

stopped him.
"You're quite sure -- you -- er -- don't know any newspapermen?"
"Quite."
"All right -- all right -- and -- er -- just don't mention about my having a
flask, if you do meet any of them. I -- er -- keep it for others. I don't
drink."
"Certainly not," began Gethryn, but Mr T. Hoppley Bulfinch had seized
his campstool and trotted away across the square.
Gethryn leaned into the cab.
"Will you give me your address?" he asked gently.
"Rue Monsieur le Prince -- 430 -- " she whispered. "Do you know
where it is?"
"Yes," said Gethryn. It was his own number.
"Rue Monsieur le Prince 430", he repeated to the driver, and stepping
in, softly shut the door.
Four
Rain was falling steadily. The sparrows huddled under the eaves, or
hopped disconsolately along the windowsills, uttering short,
ill-tempered chirps. The wind was rising, blowing in quick, sharp gusts
and sweeping the forest of rain spears, rank upon rank, in mad dashes
against the glass-roofed studio.
Gethryn, curled up in a corner of his sofa, listlessly watched the
showers of pink and white blossoms which whirled and eddied down
from the rocking chestnuts, falling into the windy court in little heaps.
One or two stiff-legged flies crawled rheumatically along the window
glass, only to fall on their backs and lie there buzzing.

The two bull pups had silently watched the antics of these maudlin
creatures, but their interest changed to indignation when one sodden
insect attempted a final ascent and fell noisily upon the floor under
their very noses. Then they rose as one dog and leaped madly upon the
intruder, or meant to; but being pups, and uncertain in their estimation
of distances, they brought up with startled yelps against the wall.
Gethryn took them in his arms, where they found consolation in
chewing the buttons off his coat. The parrot had driven the raven nearly
crazy by turning upside down and staring at him for fifteen minutes of
insulting silence. Mrs Gummidge was engaged in a matronly and
sedate toilet, interrupting herself now and then to bestow a critical
glance upon the parrot. She heartily approved of his attitude toward the
raven, and although the old cynic cared nothing for Mrs Gummidge's
opinion, he found a sour satisfaction in warning her of her enemy's
hostile intentions. This he always did with a croak, causing Mrs
Gummidge to look up just in time, and the raven to hop back
disconcerted.
The