“Whereupon, at that verra moment,” said the husband next day when recounting the event to a crony, “I had the rare intelligence to lick her hand.” § 225 No Closed Season on Fanchon When a Frenchman goes hunting he takes the sport rather seriously. In certain districts there isn’t much in the way of game for him to kill. So the native makes up for this by wearing a most elaborate and fanciful costume. An American, visiting in the château country, was invited by his host to go for a rabbit hunt. With a borrowed gun in his hands and wearing his oldest clothes, the American went. Alongside him, as they trudged through the cover, walked the Frenchman, gorgeous in gaiters and belted jacket, with a pheasant’s feather curling from the brim of his hat. Presently a bunny darted from a thicket. The American raised his fowling-piece. “Don’t shoot!” cried out his host. “That’s Armand, a great pet of ours. We never shoot at Armand.” A little further along a second rabbit hopped into view. Again the visitor made ready to fire and again his host detained him with: “That one is Pierre. We never shoot at Pierre, either.” Almost immediately, a third rabbit, a long rangy animal, came bouncing into sight. “Shoot! Shoot!” cried the Frenchman, throwing his own gun to his shoulder. “That is Fanchon. We always shoot at Fanchon.” § 226 Down and Out for the Count Dr. Jones, a young physician with a growing practice, had been going night and day for the better part of a week. If it wasn’t the stork busy in one part of the town it was the malaria microbe busy in another. He kept up his round of visits until exhausted nature demanded a respite. He staggered into his house in the evening completely fagged out, and tumbled into bed, telling his wife that, excepting upon a matter of life and death, he was not to be called. At two o’clock in the morning she came to his bedside, shook him, pinched him, slapped him in the face with a wet washrag and finally roused him to a state of semi-consciousness. Mrs. Smith, physically the biggest woman in town, had been seized with a heart attack at her home on the next street and he was wanted immediately. He struggled to his feet, threw a few garments on over his night-clothes, caught up his emergency kit and in a sort of walking trance made his way to the Smith residence. A frightened member of the household led him to the sick-room. There the patient lay, a great mountain of flesh, her features congested and her breath coming in laborious panting. Dr. Jones took her pulse and her temperature and examined her eyes, her lips and her tongue. Then he perched himself in a half recumbent attitude upon the side of the bed, put his right ear against her left breast and said: “Madam, will you kindly start counting very slowly? Now then, one-two-three and so on. Go on until I tell you to stop.” Obediently the sufferer began.