about the child. The poor woman spoke to Swanson last week, asking him
to see if we wouldn't take this one to raise. Swanson is sure that if
we took it now we could be practically certain that it would never
acquire the Swedish dialect. Of course--"

"You did not give him any encouragement, did you, Tom?" she cried
sharply.

"Well, not--er--exactly," he said, looking away.

"Well, don't!" she exclaimed. "You know I have my heart set on having
a French baby next."

"So you have," he said brightly. "I'll not forget it, my dear. As a
matter of fact, I spoke to Rouquin, our foreign exchange manager,
about it not long ago. He is quite French, my dear. He says there will
be no trouble about it. It will be no trick at all to get a French
baby. He says he already knows of a half-dozen actual descendants of
the nobility, aged from one year up to ten, any one of which we can
call our own by simply saying the word."

"He shall be called Richelieu. Dick for short," mused Mrs. Bingle.

"I thought we contemplated a girl," said he.

"It is always possible for us to change our minds, isn't it, Tom?"

"Certainly, my dear. We'll have a boy if you like. In a pinch, we can
always change the gender at the last minute. Let's not give it another
thought. I'll take it up with Rouquin the first time I'm in town. As