longer felt in the room. The patient was breathing quietly and regularly when Doctor Dumont signed to Etienne to accompany him from the bedchamber.
"He needs nothing but sleep, now," said the doctor as he closed the door be¬ hind them. "And, while he's getting it, maybe you could scrape me up a sandwich. I've eaten nothing since noon."
"You bet," Etienne said, his brown old face aglow with gratitude and admiration. "I fix you somet'ing bette'. I fix you nice om'lette an' drip you pot café. Good souper fo' good doct'."
They went out into the kitchen, and while he skilfully cracked eggs and dropped them from their shells into an earthenware bowl Etienne asked the doctor how he had managed to catch the train. Doctor Dumont settled himself comfortably at the table, then recounted his difficulties and told of how they had been overcome.
Etienne shredded a clove of garlic and added it to the eggs. "You say you catch de ferie somew'ere aroun' State Street o' Jeffe'son Av'nue?" he asked. "You certain it not Napoleon o' Walnut?"
"Absolutely," the doctor assured him. "I didn't notice the name of the street, but there was a box-factory alongside the wharf where I caught the boat, and there's no such factory at either Walnut Street or Napoleon Avenue. I know that much about the city."
"Hoh—de box-fact'ry ferie!" exclaimed Etienne. He thoughtfully added salt, pepper, tabasco and fresh basil leaves to the mixture in the bowl. "You say de enginee' had a wooden leg?"
"Yes. And, if you ask me, the old devil's crazy as a bat."
"Hmmm. Maybe. Hmmm." Etienne whisked the omelette to a creamy froth, then turned it into a skillet under which a low fire burned. "You want I should tell you 'bout one-leg' enginee' w'ich wo'k on box-fact'ry ferie?"
"Go ahead," said Doctor Dumont, his eyes on the omelette.
Etienne chuckled. "A hom'lette mus' cook slow," he said.
He put a lid on the skillet and took up a small coffee-pot.
"It all happen' w'ile I living in Nyawlins," he began. "I living on Magazine Street, an' wo'king ove' at sirop fact'ry. I have to cross rive' two time eve'y day on box-fact'ry ferie. Enginee' on boat name' Leblanc. Big man wit' red head."
"The engineer on the boat tonight had red hair," put in Doctor Dumont, looking up momentarily.
"Yeah?" The old Cajun poured boiling water over the dark-roasted coffee and chicory and set the pot on the bade of the stove to drip. He resumed:
"Enginee' Leblanc like w'isky too much. All time he have bottle in's pocket. Drink, drink, drink; all day long. Not get so ve'y dronk, but drink too much. One day he's not pay 'tention to pilot's bell, an' not reverse hengine quick 'nough—bump landing float ha'd. Ca-bam! Leblanc' own brothe' is was standing on float, waiting fo' ferie; bump make him fall off an' drown."
"You mean that he caused his own brother to drown?" demanded the doctor.
"Yeah. He's brothe' is can swim, but bump head on piling, is knock out. Neve' come up. Dey is not find him fo' two hou's."
"Did that stop the engineer's drinking?"
"Non!" snorted Etienne. "Not'ing is stop him drinking. Two week afte' he's brothe' drown, he drinking some mo' an' put's foot unde' connecting-rod. Bam!
