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Updated: May 14, 2025
Plainly not only the constitution of the United States is to be made a quaffing-stock, but the very sanctity of the marriage bond is assailed. To this form of terrorism there is but one answer. In the meantime, Quimbleton had disappeared. The house on Caraway Street was broken into by the police, but except for the grape arbor and a great quantity of empty bottles in the cellar, no clue was found.
"And what is this club?" asked Bleak, somewhat suspicious of his friend's sanguine disposition. "The admirable plan," said Quimbleton, "is Theodolinda's idea. She knows her father better than we do. She says that his passion is for prohibiting things. He thinks he has now prohibited everything possible. We are in a position to tell him something that still remains unprohibited.
"What line of talk are we going to adopt?" he asked. "Like any self-respecting line," replied Quimbleton, "Ours will be the shortest distance between two points. The first point is that we want to obtain something from Chuff. The second is that we have some information to give him which will be of immense value to him. This we shall hold over him as a club, to force him to concede what we want."
Let us go down in our cups, not in our saucers. Where there's a swill, there's a way! Let us be sot in our ways," he added, sotto voce. Terrific uproar followed this fine outburst. Quimbleton had to calm the frenzy by gesturing for silence. "I hear some natural queries," he said. "Some one asks 'How? To this I shall presently explain 'Here's how. Bear with me a moment.
Miss Chuff cut out and stitched assiduously; Quimbleton and Bleak, under her directions, sewed on the buttons snipped from the uniform. Birds twittered in the greenery about them, and they all felt something of the elation of a picnic when the garments were done and Quimbleton retired to a neighboring copse to make the change.
They saw their companions with brightened eyes and beaming faces, comparing notes as to this delicious revival of old sensations. In the impatience of some and the jubilation of others, the psychic concentration flagged a little. Then, just as Quimbleton was about to ask for the fourth round, the unforgiveable happened. Some one at the back shouted, "A glass of buttermilk!"
"Here's to the happy couple!" he cried, and drank it in one swift, practiced gesture. He then swallowed about a tablespoonful of the water. Jerry removed the utensils, again wiped the immaculate bar, and rang the cashless cash-register. The Perpetual Souse smiled happily. "That's how it's done," he said. "Do you remember?" "We're just back from South America," said Quimbleton.
An ambulance, marked Federal Home for Inebriates, Cana, N.J., dashed up with shrilling gong. This had been arranged by Quimbleton, who had wired a requisition for an ambulance to remove one intoxicated bishop. As the Bishop was quite in command of his faculties, the horse, after some delay, was hoisted into the ambulance instead. The Bishop was given a dusting, and the parade proceeded.
She broke in impetuously, and explained the plan for the Perpetual Souse. Her father listened to the end with his cold, forbidding gaze, while the sensitive needle of the recording instrument on the mantel danced and wagged in agitation. "So this is your scheme, is it?" he said. "Abandoned offspring, you deserve the gallows." "Wait a moment," said Quimbleton.
"Whither are we bound?" asked the editor, with pardonable curiosity, as their tires hummed over a smooth road. "Cana, New Jersey," said Miss Chuff, "where poor Quimbleton is in hiding. He is in very sore straits. He narrowly escaped capture after the parade the other day. I managed to get him smuggled out of the city in the same ambulance that carried Father's horse.
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