"We might have made our fortune in England," said he. Said Bakkus coolly sipping his absinthe, "I have no desire to make my fortune. Have you?" "I should like to make my name and a big position," replied Andrew. "And I, my young friend? As the fag end of the comet's tail should I have made my name and a big position? Ah egotist! Egotist! Sublime egotist! The true artist using human souls as the rungs of his ladder! Well, go your ways. I have no reproach against you. Now that I'm out of your barrack square, my heart is overflowing with love for you. You have ever a friend in Horatio Bakkus. When you fall on evil days and you haven't a sou in your pocket, come to me--and you'll always find an inspiration." "I wish you would give me one now," said Andrew, who had spent a fruitless morning at the Agence Moignon. "You want a foil, an intelligent creature who will play up to you--a creature far more intelligent than I am. A dog. Buy a dog. A poodle." "By Gum!" cried Andrew, "I believe you're right again." "I'm never wrong," said Bakkus. "Garcon!" He summoned the waiter and waved his hand towards the little accusing pile of saucers. "Monsieur always pays for my inspirations." Chapter VIII We behold Petit Patou now definitely launched on his career. Why the execution of Bakkus's (literally) cynical suggestion should have met with instant success, neither he nor Andrew nor Prépimpin, the poodle, nor anyone under heaven had the faintest idea. Perhaps Prépimpin had something to do with it. He was young, excellently trained, and expensive. As to the methods of his training Andrew made no enquiries. Better not. But, brought up in the merciful school of Ben Flint, in which Billy the pig had many successors, both porcine and canine, he had expert knowledge of what kind firmness on the part of the master and sheer love on that of the animal could accomplish. Prépimpin went through his repertoire with the punctilio of the barrack square deprecated by Bakkus. "I buy him," said Andrew. "_Viens, mon ami_." Prépimpin cast an oblique glance at his old master. "_Va-t-en_," said the latter. "_Allons_" said Andrew with a caressing touch on the dog's head. Prépimpin's topaz eyes gazed full into his new lord's. He wagged the tuft at the end of his shaven tail. Andrew knelt down, planted his fingers in the lion shagginess of mane above his ears and said in the French which Prépimpin understood: "We're going to be good friends, eh? You're not going to play me any dirty tricks? You're going to be a good and very faithful colleague?" "You mustn't spoil him," said the vendor, foreseeing, according to his lights, possible future recriminations. Andrew, still kneeling, loosed his hold on the dog, who forthwith put both paws on his shoulder and tried to lick the averted human face.