"Of Sypher's Cure—Friend of Humanity. Don't forget that," he said laughingly in French.
"Qu'est ce que c'est que ça?" asked Hégisippe, turning to Septimus. Septimus explained.
"Ah-h!" cried Hégisippe, open-mouthed, the light of recognition in his eyes. "La Cure Sypher!" He made it rhyme with "prayer." "But I know that well. And it is Monsieur who fabricates ce machin-là?"
"Yes; the Friend of Humanity. What have you used it for?"
"For my heels when they had blisters after a long day's march."
The effect of these words on Sypher was electrical. He brought both hands down on the table, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Septimus.
"Good heavens!" he cried, changing color, "it never occurred to me."
"What?"
"Why—blistered heels—marching. Don't you see? It will cure the sore feet of the Armies of the World. It's a revelation! It will be in the knapsack of every soldier who goes to manœuvers or to war! It will be a jolly sight more useful than a marshal's baton! It will bring soothing comfort to millions of brave men! Why did I never think of it? I must go round to all the War Offices of the civilized globe. It's colossal. It makes your brain reel. Friend of Humanity? I shall be the Benefactor of the Human Race."
"What will you have to drink?" asked Septimus.