During that first summer at Acre Hill Mr. Jones had the best time of his life.  His days were what the vulgar term “all velvet.”  His new residence was so superb that it restored his credit in the metropolis, and city “swells,” to whom he was under social obligation, went home, after having been paid in kind, wondering if Jocular Jimson Jones had unearthed somewhere a recently deceased rich uncle.  He gave suppers of most lavish sort.  He had vaudeville shows at the club-house, with talent made up of the most exclusive young men and women of the city.  The Amateur Thespians of the Borough of Manhattan gave a whole series of performances at the club during the autumn, and by slow degrees the society papers began to take notice.  Acre Hill began to be known as “a favorite resort of the 400.”  Nay, even the sacred 150 had penetrated to its very core, wonderingly, however, for none knew how Jocular Jimson Jones could do it.  Still, they never declined an invitation.  As a natural result the market for Acre Hill lots grew active.  The sixteen cottages were sold, and the purchasers found themselves right in the swim.  It was the easiest thing in the world to get into society if you only knew how.  Jocular Jimson Jones was a fine, approachable, neighborly person, and at the Country Club dances was quite as attentive to the hitherto unknown Mrs. Scraggs as he was to Mrs. John Jacob Wintergreen, the acknowledged leader of the 400.  Mrs. Wintergreen, too, was not unapproachable.  She talked pleasantly during a musicale at the club-house with Mr. Scraggs, and said she hoped some day to have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Scraggs; and when Scraggs, in response, said he would go and get her she most amiably begged him not to leave her alone.

Months went by, and where sixteen empty houses had been, there were now sixty all occupied, and lots were going like hot cakes.  Tuxedo was in the shade.  Lenox was dying.  Newport was dead.  Society flocked to Acre Hill and hobnobbed with Acre Hillians.  Acre Hillians became somewhat proud of themselves, and rather took to looking down upon Dumfries Corners people.  Dumfries Corners people were nice, and all that, but not particularly interesting in the sense that “our set,” with Jocular Jimson Jones at the head of it, was interesting.

Then came the County Ball.  This Jocular engineered himself, and the names of the lady patrons were selected from the oldest and the newest on the list.  Mrs. Wintergreen’s name led, of course, but Mrs. Scraggs’ name was there too, sandwiched in between those of Mrs. Van Cortlandtuyvel and Mrs. Gardenior, of Gardenior’s Island, representing two families which would carry social weight either in Boston or the “other side of Market Street.”  There were four exalted names from the city, one from Dumfries Corners, and seven from Acre Hill.

Then more lots sold, and still more, and then, alas, came the end!  Jocular Jimson Jones was too successful.