rubber can obliterate what you do not wholly approve." "I shall be honored, Monsieur," said Mendoza, who was by no means above taking a free lesson from Théophile Boyau.

"So," said Monsieur Boyau as he leaned over, and made a few marks upon the paper. "And thus. Am I right?"

"It is not," said Mendoza, "for me to pass judgment upon the work of a Boyau. This sketch is finished." He took a small bottle of fixative out of his pocket, sprayed the drawing, and put it away in his portfolio. "I am now," he said, "possessed of twenty strokes by Théophile Boyau. My morning has turned out a lucky one, after all."

old, an adorable

little girl. Both

were thin and very

pale.

Monsieur Boyau

frowned.

"Thank you; no," he said, and his voice was not kindly any more.

woman

The sighed and began to move away; but, even as she moved, she staggered, and caught at the back of a chair to steady her self. Then she sat down suddenly. At that, with

great swiftness, Mendoza jumped up. "Madame," he said, "take courage. I will see what I can do," and he darted into the café.

It was empty save for the waiter, a canary, and a woman of opulent figure who sat at the cash-desk making a piece of embroidery. Mendoza approached her, hat in hand, and opened his portfolio.

"Madame," he said in his courtly Spanish voice and his perfect, but rather rough-sounding, French, "I sell these drawings to editors for five francs apiece. Will you take one or all of them in return for coffee, bread, meat, and a bowl of warm milk? There are a woman and a child out there who look as if they might

"No," said the woman; "I do not care for pictures. But you are a Spaniard, are you not? Yes? My mother was a Spaniard. You shall have the victuals for your friends, my little fellow." And she gave an order to the waiter.

"Decidedly," said Mendoza to himself as, having overwhelmed the woman with thanks, he went out of doors again"decidedly this is my lucky morning."

Monsieur Boyau, who had hitherto looked very severe, now began again to illuminate his neighborhood with smiles.

"Heaven," he said piously, "will undoubtedly reward monsieur for his kindness," and he looked with interest, not unmingled with pity, at this shabby youth who flung his money about so recklessly. But that was youth. Appearances were certainly deceptive. He would never have supposed that the boy had the price of a meal for himself, let alone for two others. Mendoza drew the child up to his knee. She came willingly, and at once snuggled

"will be here directly. Meanwhile let us offer madamoiselle such other poor entertainment as is in our power." He opened his portfolio, took out a sheet of paper, and began to draw. "The Jardin des Plantes," he said, "is popular with the very young, but it is far from where we sit. Still, many wonderful things are in the power of the draftsman. Behold, Madamoiselle, I transport us to the Jardin des Plantes. What is this that is coming into view? I swear, it is an elephant!"

As he spoke, a magnificent and most comical elephant appeared upon the paper. The child clapped her hands.

"See, Maman," she cried, "the gentleman has made an elephant. And it is droll. Oh! but it is droll!" "Madamoiselle would perhaps enjoy a

pushed the bowl away and asked for 'Toinette's lion.

Mendoza obliged. Then he drew at tiger, a rhinoceros, a boa constrictor, a giraffe; and all

ness that the likeness was extraordinary. "A lion," cried the child, "draw "Toinette a lion."

"When madamoiselle has drunk her milk," said Mendoza, "a lion shall be produced, and a terrible one, if madamoiselle pleases."

"Oh, yes," she said, "let it be very terrible. "Toinette is not afraid of monsieur's beasts, she is so enormous now." With admirable docility she began to consume her milk. Her mother fell greedily upon the ham, bread, and coffee that the waiter had set before her. Mendoza lit his last cigarette and drank beer.

When the milk was finished, the child

Monsieur Boyau

were convulsed with merriment.

At last madame the proprietress of the café, made curious by the laughter outside, joined the admiring throng. Although she did not care for pictures, she was SO much delighted with Mendoza's beasts (and perhaps with his Spanish voice) that she ordered more meat and bread and coffee

to be brought out; yes, and a pot of confiture for madamoiselle.

At last Mendoza, who had been observing old Boyau craftily out of the corner of his eye, stopped drawing and said:

"But who am I to be spoiling paper in the presence of a Boyau? Know, Madamoiselle, that this old gentleman is. France's greatest living painter. Ask him to draw something for you. Then you will see beasts indeed."

"Ah, bah!" said Monsieur Boyau, prodigiously pleased, nevertheless. "Who am I to compete with such a magician? However, if madamoiselle permits, I will do my humble best to satisfy her." Ever

since the drawing had begun, his fingers had been itching to be at work, and his artist's soul had been hungering to taste the unalloyed flattery of the child's ecstatic appreciation.

Almost before he had finished speaking, one of Mendoza's blank sheets was before him.

"Not in charcoal, Master," said Mendoza in his ear. "It is too broad for a child's eye. Take this pencil. It is a good one."

The old man obeyed. He was very much disposed to be good. This was n't going to cost him a penny, yet he was about to do a kindly thing. And he liked to be kind so long as he did n't have to Day.

"Let me think," he said as he arranged the paper for his hand. "Monsieur has suggested more beasts for madamoiselle, but I cannot draw beasts that will compare with those of monsieur. Supposesuppose suppose I make a procession of gladiators."

"What," asked madamoiselle, "are gladiators? I think I would rather have more beasts."

"Not so," said Mendoza, pressing her with his arm persuasively. "There is nothing more beautiful than gladiators. Madamoiselle will see."

Monsieur Boyau bent himself to his task, and very soon the intention of his design became apparent.

The spectator, Cæsar for the moment, stared down upon the sand of the circus, which in the background towered, tier on tier to meet its vast, striped awning. And there stood the gladiators, their arms. raised, shouting, saluting the emperor, under whose eyes they were about to die. What Monsieur Boyau did n't know about gladiators, as about many other things, was n't worth knowing, and he had placed his knowledge unreservedly at the service of his design. It was a very astonishing crowd of villains when it was done.

"So!" he said at last, leaning back and finishing his drink. "And what does madamoiselle think of it?"

"But where," asked madamoiselle, obviously disappointed, "are the gladiators? I see nothing but a lot of ugly men shouting."

Monsieur Boyau laughed genially and got up.

"My young friend," he said to Mendoza, "I was foolish to compete with you. I have failed. My compliments. You have defeated Théophile Boyau."

He rose, picked up his sketch, and was about to tear it across; but Mendoza's hand shot out.

"No," he said eagerly; "no, Monsieur. That is mine. That is my prize for defeating Théophile Boyau."

"That thing?" said Monsieur Boyau. "Ah, bah! You deserve something better than that."

"It is a memento," said Mendoza, "of a meeting that I shall not forget. I may keep it?"

"Surely, if you value it."
"And you will sign it?"

"Why not?" asked Monsieur Boyau, smiling. "Where I give, I sign." And he signed the sketch. he signed the sketch. "Between you, you have made me late for my luncheon," he said with mock severity. "The digestion of Théophile Boyau is not lightly to be tampered with. I hope you appreciate the enormity of your crime. And so goodday to you all, Monsieur, Madame, Madamoiselle."

He raised his hat three times and waddled away.

"And now," said Mendoza, "I will go and interview a gentleman that I know of. Do you, Madame and Madamoiselle, stay here. I will be back within the hour, and I hope to bring you good news. Waiter, my nearest road to the Opéra?" The waiter gave directions.

Mendoza placed Monsieur Boyau's drawing carefully between the covers of his portfolio and ran off.

Twenty minutes later he arrived, still running, at Lemaître's.

He went straight in.

"Monsieur Lemaître?" he panted to the person who appeared to be in charge of the gallery.