So," he said, "it is settled. Lewis you stay here. If he throws you
out, come back again."

"Eh! eh!" cried Le Brux, "not so fast. Listen. This is the most I can
do. I'll let him stay here. I'll give him the room down the hall that I
rent to keep any one else out, and--and--I'll use him for a model."

Leighton shrugged his shoulders.

"So, let it be so," he said. "The boy will make his own way into your
big, hollow heart, and use it for a playroom. But just remember,
_Matre_, that he is a boy--_my_ boy. If he is to go in for all
this,"--Leighton waved his hand at the casts,--"I want him to start in
with a man who sees art and art only, a man who didn't turn beast the
first time he realized God didn't create woman with petticoats."

Le Brux's eyes bulged with comprehension. He thumped his resounding
chest.

"Me!" he cried--"me, a wet nurse!" He yanked open another button of his
smock. "Behold me! Have I the attributes?"

Leighton turned his back on him.

"Now you are ranting," he said. He picked up an old newspaper from the
floor and started to wrap up the cast he had bought. "Now listen,
_Maitre_. Go and dress yourself for a change. The boy and I will spend a
few hours looking for a fiacre that will stand the weight. Then we'll
come back, and I'll take you out for a drive to a place where you can
remind yourself what a tree looks like. I'll also give you a dinner that
you couldn't order in an hour with Careme holding your hand."

"Ah, _mon enfant_," sighed Le Brux, folding his hands across his
stomach, "thou hast struck me below the belt. Thou knowest that my
memory is not so short but what I will dine with thee."

When at seven o'clock the three sat down at a table which, like
everything else that came in contact with Le Brux, seemed a size too
small, Leighton said to his guest:

"_Maitre_, it has been my endeavor to provide to-night a single essence
from each of the five great epochs of modern cookery."

"Yes, my child?" said Le Brux, gravely, but with an expectant gleam in
his eye.

"In no branch of science," continued Leighton, "have progress and
innovation been so constantly associated as in gastronomy, and we shall
consequently abandon the rule of the savants of the last generation and
proceed from the light to the less light and then to the rich."

"I agree," said Le Brux.

Leighton nodded to the attendant. Soup was served.

"_Creme d'asperges a la reine_," murmured Le Brux. "Friend, is it not a