"Or even a pie."
"You are right; there are pies of this shape. And it's so easy to use; no one has any idea what it is. Why, you can even use it at the theatre, in a box. I know a lady who made a bet that she'd do it at the opera, during a ballet; she won her bet."
"Did she have witnesses?"
"Probably."
"I must confess that I should have cried off."
"In a word, I bought this delightful clyso-pompe. Well! Monsieur Rochebrune, would you believe that our child, whom his grandmother had accustomed to the old method, positively refused to adopt the new? Impossible to make him try the clyso-pompe! Children are so obstinate! And as my wife spoils him, she bought him an old-fashioned syringe. The dealer who sold me this box refuses to take it back, and I am trying to dispose of it—at a loss, of course. If you happened to want such a thing——"
"No, Monsieur Dumouton, I am sorry that I cannot oblige you as I did in the matter of the umbrella, but I won't buy your clyso-pompe."
"You are making a mistake. It's always useful."
"It is of no use for you to insist. But go and see our mutual friend, Monsieur Rouffignard. Who knows? perhaps he will be very glad to relieve you of this instrument."
At the name Rouffignard, Dumouton's face lengthened, and, without another word, he bowed and disappeared. I was sure that he would not try to sell me anything more.