to see if the fish dealer had
sent the right number.

"He was up to 2,196,493 and still had a half pound to go.

"James left that night followed by shouts of approval from all present.

"I'm telling you all this, Hep, just to prove that Fate is kind while it
delays your wedding until some genius invents an automatic cook made of
aluminum and electricity."

Hep laughed and shook his head.

"The servant problem won't delay my wedding," he chortled; "if there
wasn't a cook left in the world we wouldn't care; we're going to be
vegetarians because we're going to live in the Garden of Eden."

"Tush!" I snickered.

"Tush, yourself!" said Hep.

"Oh, tush, both of you," said Peaches; "John said that very thing to me
three weeks before we were married."

"Sure I did," I went back, "and we're still in the Garden, aren't we? Of
course, if you want to sub-let part of it and have Hep and his bride
roaming moon-struck through your strawberry beds, that's up to you!"

"Well," said friend wife, "being alone in the Garden of Eden is all
right, but after you've been there three or four years there's a mild
excitement in hearing a strange voice, even if it is that of a Serpent!"

Close the door, Delia, I feel a draft.

CHAPTER VIII

YOU SHOULD WORRY ABOUT AUCTION BRIDGE

Receiving letters which I promptly forget to answer is a hobby with me.
The disease must be hereditary--possibly from my grandfather, who was a
village postmaster. He used to get a lot of letters he never answered.
(Man the life-line, lads; we'll get him ashore yet!)

Well, here's one I am going to answer.

It's a bit of literature that reached me a day or two ago, chaperoned by
a two-cent stamp and a hunk of pale green sealing-wax.

Philadelphia, Lately.

Dear John:--I have never met you personally, but I've heard my
brother, Teddy, speak of you so often that you really seem to be
one of the family.

(Teddy talks slang something fierce.)

Dear John, will you please pardon the liberty I take in grabbing a
two-cent stamp and jumping so unceremoniously at one who is, after
all, a perfect stranger?

Dear John, if you look around you can see on every hand that the
glad season of the year is nearly here, and if you listen
attentively you may hear the hoarse cry of the summer resort
beckoning us to that bourne from which no traveler returns