ew the book; aye, every tale in it, with all its possible
variations, had long been to him a bit of true history. To him Hercules
lived yesterday, and, confusing hearsay with memory, he was almost ready
to swear that he was present and used a shovel when the strong man
cleaned the Augean stables.

The next morning, when his father and brother were ready to go to visit
the Polytechnique, Gustave pleaded illness and was allowed to lie abed.
But no sooner was he alone than he seized pencil and paper and began to
make pictures illustrating "The Labors of Hercules."

In two hours he had half a dozen pictures done, and fearing the return of
his father he hurried with his pictures to Monsieur Philipon, director of
the "Journal pour Rire." He shouldered past the attendants, pushed his
way into the office of the great man, and spreading his pictures out on
the desk cried, "Look here, sir! that is the way 'The Labors of
Hercules' should be illustrated!"

It was the action of one absorbed and lost in an idea. Had he taken
thought he would have hesitated, been abashed, self-conscious--and
probably been repulsed by the flunkies--before seeing Monsieur Philipon.
It was all the sublime effrontery and conceit--or naturalness, if you
please--of a country bumpkin who did not know his place.

Philipon glanced at the pictures and then looked at the boy. Then he
looked at the pictures. He called to another man in an adjoining room and
they both looked at the pictures. Then they consulted in an undertone. It
was suggested that the boy draw another illustration right there and
then. They wished to make sure that he himself did the work, and they
wanted to see how long it took.

Gustave sat down and drew another picture.

Philipon refused to let the lad leave the office, and dispatched a
messenger for his father. When the father arrived, a contract was drawn
up and signed, whereby it was provided that the "infant" should remain
with Philipon for three years, on a yearly salary of five thousand
francs, with the proviso that the lad should attend the school, Lycee
Charlemagne, for four hours every day.

Thus, while yet a child, without discipline or the friendly instruction
that wisdom might have lent, he was launched on the tossing tide of
commercial life.

His "Hercules" was immediately published and made a most decided hit--a
palpable hit. Paris wanted more, and Philipon wished to supply the
demand. The new artist's pictures in the "