bedtime. Miss Fairweather kissed him sweetly, not once but thrice,
full on the lips, and told him that he was the nicest little boy in
all the world.




CHAPTER XII

THE BIRTH OF NAPOLEON


Mr. Bingle saw Monsieur Rouquin again. The excellent manager of the
foreign exchange assured the vice-president that he could now
guarantee to procure the most adorable of French infants at a moment's
notice, an infant that he could personally recommend in every
particular.

"Sir," said Monsieur Rouquin, "it is impossible to imagine a more
perfect child, let alone to create one. I have seen thousands,
millions of babies, M'sieur Bangle, but not one so--"

"Bingle," corrected the vice-president.

"It is my abominable, unpardonable dialect," deplored Rouquin, who
spoke English without a flaw. "Millions of babes have I seen, but not
one so wonderful as this one. It is a--ah--it is a perfect specimen
of--"

"You say 'it,' Rouquin. Am I to understand that its gender is unknown