I thanked him, or perhaps I forgot to, and returned to my taxi. “Passage de Haynau in Rue Croix Nivert,” I said. “Q’numéro?” “There ain’t none.” “Come on,” demanded the driver. “I told you there was no number. We’ll just have to keep looking till we find it.” We convinced the guardian of the gate that we weren’t trying to cheat on gasoline, and rolled into Rue Croix Nivert about thirteen o’clock. My chauffeur sat nonchalantly in his accustomed seat while I made a house-to-house canvass of Haynau’s Passage. The last house was the right one. I knew it in an instant, for when I entered the corridor a French sentry popped up and placed the end of his bayonet within an inch of Nose-prominent. “Captain Vandervelde,” said I, making a short strategical retreat. “Come on,” said Frenchy without lowering his sticker. A password was what he wanted, and Mr. Poincaré had forgotten to call me up and give me the correct one for the day. I produced a two-franc piece and held it out. The sentry withdrew his weapon, accepted the coin, and allowed me to pass. “The word,” I thought to myself, “must be Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité.” Captain Vandervelde was in and made me wait only half an heure, the while I thought more than once of yon taxi. Finally I was summoned to the inner office. “What can je faire pour vous?” he inquired. I told him I wanted an order on the ---- branch factory for some tools and four new tires. “Rien fairing on the tires,” he said. “Pourquoi?” I asked him. “Orders pour tires must come from the Maison de la Guerre.” “Can you fix me for the tools?” “Ah, oui. What tools voulez-vous?” “Une roue-tirer et un offset clef à vis.” “Votre papers, s’il vous plaît.” I handed him passport, American pass, and salmon-pink card. He glanced them over, then began rummaging in a drawer. I knew what was coming--another dossier. “Avez-vous une photophie?” he asked. “Ah, oui,” says I, and slipped him one of the remaining five. He kept the dossier and photophie for the amusement of himself and progeny. He gave me only a mauve card which said I was entitled to one wheel puller and one left-handed offset monkey wrench. I told my driver we had to hurry right back to Le Vallois-Perret. He looked crestfallen. “Je have had no déjeûner,” he said. “Neither have je,” I said, and climbed in. _Thursday, September 13. Paris._ Up early and to the garage. Delivered the tools. “Vous had better buy a tire pump,” said my adviser. “Je suppose,” said I, “that I’ll have to get an order for one from Papa Joffre.” “No,” he said. “That’s une chose vous can buy sans an order.” “Voulez-vous get to work on the car right away?” “Ah, oui,” says he. I asked my chauffeur to take me to a maison du tire pumps. We found one on the Champs Elysées. Other things for sale in the store were watches and perfumery. I proceeded thence to French General Headquarters. The gentleman authorized to sign orders for tires received me cordially and spoke English.