as one might suspect, but joyful spirits. To them we will drink a
toast of good will and better luck next time, and they may drink to
you, madame and sir, the health of one grand Napoleon Bingle, in whose
past they both shared but whose future can only be a--"

"Oh, I say, Rouquin," broke in Monsieur Jean languidly, "why not make
it 'many happy returns of the day'? That's the real issue."

Rouquin coughed violently, and, upon recovering himself, went on with
a slight modification of his rapture: "Whatever should come of this
day's work, we should all drink deeply to the health, prosperity and
fame of a future president of the United States--Napoleon Bingle!
Come, Madame Bingle, you cannot refuse to join your humble servant and
petitioner in one jolly, epoch-making--though absolutely respectable--
celebration in honour of our little Napoleon. And you, M'sieur--Ah,
you, sir! Have you not in prospect the alliance of your own honoured
name with that of the most notable Frenchman of recent times?
Napoleon! Bingle! Ah, think of it! Bingle--Napoleon! We can afford to
overlook the fact that Napoleon was a Corsican and not a--real
Frenchman. We can--"

"Just as we must overlook the fact that little Napoleon is a Rousseau
and not a Bingle," said Mr. Bingle drily.

"Quite so, quite so," agreed Rouquin hastily. "Napoleon Bonaparte was
the adopted son of France, and Napoleon Rousseau is the adopted son of
the great Thomas Bingleton Single--" "Singleton Bingle," corrected Mr.
Bingle, as Rouquin hesitated in evident appreciation of his mixed
consonants.