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 he had picked it up in Afghanistan! M. Duprez gave us the only two chairs in his office and bowed incessantly, while Hazel opened her "French in a Twinkling" and hastily scanned the pages.

"Listen, Mister Monseer," she says, "parley vous English, siv vous play?"

"But yes," says this master mind, "and Mademoiselle spiks vairy well Français, no is it not?"

"I love that!" says Hazel, a bit steamed. "What are you doing—clowning?"

"Oh, not of the all, Mademoiselle, not of the all!" says Dizzy. "Of how do you must have my assistance?"

"We crave excitement!" says Hazel. "We got a yen to see Paris and see it right, get me? Eventually, why not now? Where do we go?"

"Ah?" says Duprez, with plenty hand waving. "I would offer the Champs Elysées, the Louvre, the Arc-de-Triomphe, la Place de la Concorde, le Palais de Justice, le"

"For crying out loud!" butts in Hazel impatiently. "We don't wish souvenir post-cards, we want to step out and get some laughs. We'd like to personally inspect the Latin Quarter, the Montmarte, the Dead Rat Café, the Follies—eh—Bergerear, or what have you?"

A wicked grin appeared slowly on the face of M. Duprez and he commenced to swell up like a mump.