The folding baby carriage was left at home, for the walk is but a short one and Frances loves to carry her little one. My offer to assume the charge was at once rejected, Frieda complaining that even she was considered somewhat unreliable as a beast of burden. Frances laughed, cheerfully, but held on to her treasure. She is no longer nervous and fretful when leaving Baby Paul for a couple of hours, knowing that, if he happens to awaken, there will be soothing words of affection for him. We had to ring a tinkling bell for admittance and Félicie, buxom and of high color, welcomed us all. Certainly she would care for the angel; most evidently she would look after the precious lamb; with not the slightest doubt she would love and cherish the little cabbage. While I remained in the penumbra of the half darkened shop, it took the three of them to see the baby properly installed on the bed in the back room. Frances and Frieda heard the solemn promise made to them, to the effect that there would be no adventitious aid to happiness such as a lump of sugar tied in a rag, and presently we sallied forth.
Lest my readers be already weary of Camus, I can only say that I am one of those individuals who stick to old friends, either through an inborn sense of faithfulness or, more probably, because of a tendency to slothfulness, which makes me consider it exceedingly troublesome to wander afield and search for pastures new. We had our dinner in quiet enjoyment and felt, as we came out again, that the world was a very fair sort of a dwelling-place. We had enjoyed the food and I fancy that, under the table, my foot had beaten time to the melody eked out by the orchestra. The fiddler, I am glad to say, is looking somewhat stouter. The good meals provided by the widow may be responsible for this. At any rate, I rejoice to think so, since it would go to show that a dinner at Camus is not only a pleasant, but also a hygienic, pursuit.
For an instant our enjoyment of the music was interrupted by the clang and clatter of passing fire engines. We looked about us, perfunctorily, and decided that the conflagration was neither under our chairs nor above our rafters and continued to sip our coffee with the contempt due to a New Yorker's familiarity with steam-pumps and water towers. A couple of minutes later we left and, reaching Sixth Avenue, found it somewhat crowded. A block further we came to a panting engine and hurried on. Cars were blocked by a line of hose stretched across the street. Frances caught my arm, nervously, and a look of terror came over her. Then we ran, Frieda puffing behind. The fire was in the middle of the block and streams of water crashed through windows. Ladders were going up and the firemen, conscious that it was but a moderate blaze, from their standpoint, worked calmly and effectively.
"You stay there!" I shouted to my two companions and elbowed my way through the crowd, which was being pushed back by policemen. One of them seized me and threatened to use his locust on my cranium if I advanced any farther. I drew back and dashed through another opening till I reached Félicie's door, entering the place and nearly falling over a large osier basket in which were piled up a lot of tangled garments.
"Take de handle!" commanded the good woman.
"The baby! Little Paul!" I shouted.
"Under the silk dress. Take de handle," she repeated.
We issued from the place, meeting with a policeman who suspected us of unworthy motives. We had to exhibit the infant and establish our identity before he would let us proceed with the huge basket. It was about time! Firemen bearing a length of pipe dashed by us and entered the cleaning establishment. The fire, it appeared, was in the restaurant next door and threatened to invade Félicie's premises.
My two friends were wringing their hands as they dashed towards us, and upon their heads their hats were awry.
"Paul is all right!" I assured them. "But they took us for robbers."