Suddenly I bethought me of a document in my pocket, a letter from the boss of the Maison de la Presse. I flashed it on him.

“Ah-h-h!” he sighed, and led me through the mob to the inner shrine.

In ten minutes I had my card. The commissioner didn’t even want a picture, or nothin’. I plunged through the gang again and was stared at enviously. Some of the poor blokes have undoubtedly been waiting there since the Kaiser was forced into the war.

Again I appeared before the traffic chief. “Of course,” he said, “I will have to examine your papers. And avez-vous une photophie ?”

I came through.

“Now,” I said, “we’re fifty-fifty. You have one and I have one.”