"have led you to expect too much. I have made inquiries of Quimby. There are, aside from his own, but seven keys in all to the various doors of Baldpate Inn. Four are here represented. It is hardly likely that the other three will send dele- gates, and if they should, you have but a slim chance for kings and poets. Even Baldpate s capacity for excitement, you see, is limited by the number of little steel keys which open its portals to exiles from the outside world. I am reminded of the words of the philosopher—"
"Well, Peters, old top," broke in Mr. Bland in robust tones, "isn't she nearly off the fire?"
"Now see here," said the hermit, setting down the armful of dishes with which he had entered the office, "I can't be hurried. I'm all upset, as it is. I can't cook to please women—I don't pretend to. I have to take all sorts of precautions with this lunch. Without meaning to be impolite, but just because of a passion for cold facts, I may say that women are faultfinding."
"I m sure," said Miss Norton sweetly, "that I shall consider your luncheon perfect."
"They get more faultfinding as they get old-
