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Updated: May 14, 2025
"The Corporation has spoken," said his host. "Let us go indoors, where you can read what I have written." In a small handsomely appointed library Bleak opened the paper. It was a sheet of official stationery and read as follows: Cable Address: Hapcorp Virgil Quimbleton, Associate Director 1316 Caraway Street
They set the basket of food beside Quimbleton, and carefully moved on through the strip of young trees until they neared the broad lawns that surround the Home for Inebriates. Miss Chuff, spying delicately through a leafy chink, gave a cry of alarm. "Heavens!" she said. "The place is full of people!"
One hundred thousand pan-antis will parade on the Boulevard, with a hundred brass bands, led by the Bishop himself on his coal black horse. Do you know the purpose of the parade?" "In a general way," said Bleak, "I suppose it is to give publicity to the prohibition cause." "They have kept their malign scheme entirely secret," said Quimbleton. "You, as a newspaper man, should know it. Nonsense!
I would go out into the garden and have a trance; Quimbleton, poor bereaved fellow, would sit by me in the dusk and revel with the spirit of his dear comrade. This common bond soon ripened into Jove, and we became betrothed." She stripped off one of her gloves and showed Bleak a beautiful amethyst ring. "This is my engagement ring," she said.
"Bless your heart for this grub," said Quimbleton to Bleak. "As soon as I smelt that shrimp salad I woke up. Do you know, I haven't eaten for two days." "Oh Virgil!" cried Theodolinda, "what does this mean all the crowd round the Home? Mr. Bleak and I looked up there, and the place is simply packed. You can't stay undiscovered long with all those people around. Who are they, anyway?"
The fantastic cascade of false white hair wagged gravely in the dusk. "My dear sir," said Quimbleton solemnly, "I fancy you are to be gratified by a far higher destiny than catching the 9.30. Do me the honor of filling your glass. But be careful not to clink the decanter against the tumbler. There is every probability that vigilant ears are on the alert."
More than once, reeling with the endless circuit of a painted merry-go-round charger, the perplexed candidate became so confused that he kissed the paper napkin and autographed the baby. He found Quimbleton a stern ringleader.
Quimbleton," he said, in a harsh and untuned voice, "You come comparatively sober. Strange that you should choose to be unintoxicated when you face the greatest ordeal of your life." The savage irony of this angered Quimbleton. "One touch of liquor makes the whole world kin," he said. "I assure you I have no desire to claim kinship with your bitter and intolerant soul."
Light-hearted and irresponsible souls, unoppressed by the embittered suspicion of their superiors, they nosed the floating aroma with candid hilarity. "The breath of Eden!" said one. "It's a warm evening," remarked another, with seeming irrelevance. The face of Virgil Quimbleton, the man in gray, relaxed again at these marks of honest appreciation. He waved an encouraging arm over the crystals.
Miss Chuff shuddered, quivered, and opened her eyes with a tragic gasp. She slipped from the chair, and fell exhausted to the floor. Bleak ran to pick her up. Quimbleton screamed out an oath. "The spell is broken!" he roared. "There's a spy in the room!" At that instant a battalion of armed chuffs burst into the hall.
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