are what kind they are. They are snakes just the same."

Diogenes instantly began to bellow for me to hand him a snake to play
with.

"He recognizes his own," I told Silvia, who, however, saw nothing
amusing in my implication.

When I came out of the water, the temperature had climbed several
degrees and we were glad to seek the hotel parlor, which was cool and
damp.

After dinner Silvia put Diogenes to bed and we sat out on the veranda.
I was enjoying my evening smoke and the feel of the night wind in my
face. Silvia had just finished telling me that merely to be away from
the Polydores was Paradise enough for her, and that she didn't care
very much about the woods, anyway--the lake was sufficient, when her
optimism was rudely jolted by the shrill, shudder-sending song of the
festive mosquito.

She fled into the parlor. The landlady, who seemed to have a panacea
for all ills, suggested that she might tack mosquito netting around
the little balcony extending from our bedroom, and then she could sit
there in comfort when the mosquitoes bothered.

"That's what the last lady that had that room did," she said, "but
when she left, she took the netting with her. We keep a supply in our
little store."

Silvia immediately sought the hotel store and bought a quantity of the
netting and a goodly stock of the mosquito lotion.

That night as I was drifting into slumber, Silvia remarked: "Only one
of the things I heard and read about this place is true."

"Which one?" I asked between winks.

"That it was unfrequented. I have seen only three guests besides us so
far. How do they make it pay?"

"The hotel is evidently only a side issue," I replied.

"To what?"

"To the store. Think of the quantities of lotion and netting they must
sell in the season, which, you must know, is in the fall. The hunting,
the landlord tells me, is very good, and his hotel is quite popular
in October and November."

"I think we had better stay, Lucien. Mosquitoes don't poison you."

"Even if they did," I declared, "as a choice between them and the
Polydores I would say, 'Oh, Mosquito, where is thy sting?'"

CHAPTER VI

_A Flirt and a Woman-Hater_

The next morning I arose early and screened in the little birdhouse
balcony. There was a large piece of netting left and Silvia converted
it into a robe and headgear for the swaddling of Diogenes.

"He looks like the Bride of Lammermoor," I declared, as he went forth
in this regal