to lose us), I experienced the jolt of the clutch--and we were off in
pursuit.

Whatever may have been the forebodings inspired by t-d Number 1's
attitude, they were completely annihilated by the thrilling joy which I
experienced on losing sight of the accursed section and its asinine
inhabitants--by the indisputable and authentic thrill of going somewhere
and nowhere, under the miraculous auspices of someone and no one--of
being yanked from the putrescent banalities of an official non-existence
into a high and clear adventure, by a _deus ex machina_ in a grey-blue
uniform, and a couple of tin derbies. I whistled and sang and cried to my
_vis-a-vis_: "By the way, who is yonder distinguished gentleman who has
been so good as to take my friend and me on this little promenade?"--to
which, between lurches of the groaning F.I.A.T., t-d replied awesomely,
clutching at the window for the benefit of his equilibrium: "Monsieur le
Ministre de Surete de Noyon."

Not in the least realizing what this might mean, I grinned. A responsive
grin, visiting informally the tired cheeks of my _confrere_, ended by
frankly connecting his worthy and enormous ears which were squeezed into
oblivion by the oversize _casque_. My eyes, jumping from those ears, lit
on that helmet and noticed for the first time an emblem, a sort of
flowering little explosion, or hair-switch rampant. It seemed to me very
jovial and a little absurd.

"We're on our way to Noyon, then?"

T-d shrugged his shoulders.

Here the driver's hat blew off. I heard him swear, and saw the hat