ng Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-a-brac a day on
the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a
butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and
try occasionally to set fire to the furniture."

"But the flat silver, George, what of that?"

"Oh, the flat silver," I said gloomily, "each one has his cross to bear,
that shall be ours."

III

We were, as has been suggested, a relatively rich couple. That's a pun!
At the end of five years a relative on either side left us a graceful
reminder. The problem of living became merely one of degree. At the end
of this period we had made considerable progress in the building up of a
home which should be in fact and desire entirely ours. That is, we had
been extensively fortunate in the preservation of our wedding presents.
Our twenty-second housemaid broke a bottle of ink over the parlor rug,
her twenty-one predecessors (whom I had particularly selected) had
already made the most gratifying progress among the bric-a-brac, two
intelligent Airdale puppies had chewed satisfactory holes in the Art
Nouveau furniture, even the Sistine Madonna had wrenched loose from its
supports and considerately annihilated the jewel-studded Oriental lamp
in the general smashup.

Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the
artistic taste on which I pride myself. There remained at length only
the flat silver and a few thousand dollars' worth of solid silver
receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage. But
these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination.

One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash.

Clara gave an exclamation of alarm.

"George dear, what is it?"

For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and
gazed at it with a savage joy.

"George, George, what has happened?"

"My dear, I have an idea--a wonderful idea."

"What idea?"

"We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey."

Clara screamed.

"Are you in your senses, George?"

"Never more so."

"But it's broiling hot!"

"Hotter than that."

"It is simply deluged with mosquitoes."

"There _are_ several mosquitoes there."

"It's a hole in the ground!"

"It certainly is."

"And the only people we know there are the Jimmy Lakes, whom I detest."

"I can't bear them."

"And, George, there are _burglars_!"

"Yes, my dear," I said triumphant