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If you are a subscriber to the Toadies' Magazine, you have often You say you are not? Well, you buy it at a news-stand, thinking that the newsdealer is not wise to you. But he knows about it all. HE knows HE knows! I say that you have often seen in the Toadies' Magazine pictures of the Van Plushvelts' summer home; so it will not be described here.
The Van Plushvelts have a hundred million dollars, and their name is a household word with tradesmen and photographers.
Let us get back to the serious questions that arise whenever Sociology turns summer boarder. You are invited to consider the scene of the story wild, Atlantic waves, thundering against a wooded and rock-bound shore in the Greater City of New York. The town of Fishampton, on the south shore of Long Island, is noted for its clam fritters and the summer residence of the Van Plushvelts.
But he scrambled up and fell upon his foe, head, feet and fists. The fight lasted one round of an hour and ten minutes. It was lengthened until it was more like a war or a family feud than a fight. Haywood had learned some of the science of boxing and wrestling from his tutors, but these he discarded for the more instinctive methods of battle handed down by the cave-dwelling Van Plushvelts.
On the fifteenth of June the Van Plushvelts boarded up the front door of their city house, carefully deposited their cat on the sidewalk, instructed the caretaker not to allow it to eat any of the ivy on the walls, and whizzed away in a 40-horse-power to Fishampton to stray alone in the shade Amaryllis not being in their class.
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