“No, unless I have some in your pocket?” said the little man, with a mixture of embarrassment and bravado that touched Braith, who saw what the confession cost him.
“Lots!” said he, cordially. “But first let us try what we can do with Bobby. Do you ever drink a petit verre, Monsieur le Sergeant de Ville?” with a winning smile to the wooden policeman.
The latter looked at the floor.
“No,” said he.
“Never?”
“Never!”
“Well, I was only thinking that over on the Corner of the Rue Taitbout one finds excellent wine at twenty francs.”
The officer now gazed dreamily at the ceiling.
“Mine costs forty,” he said.
And a few minutes later the faithful fellow stood in front of the Opera house quite alone.