preservation of our wedding presents.  Our twenty-second housemaid broke a bottle of ink over the parlor rug, her twenty-one predecessors (whom I had particularly selected) had already made the most gratifying progress among the bric-a-brac, two intelligent Airdale puppies had chewed satisfactory holes in the Art Nouveau furniture, even the Sistine Madonna had wrenched loose from its supports and considerately annihilated the jewel-studded Oriental lamp in the general smashup.

Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the artistic taste on which I pride myself.  There remained at length only the flat silver and a few thousand dollars’ worth of solid silver receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage.  But these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination.

One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash.

Clara gave an exclamation of alarm.

“George dear, what is it?”

For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and gazed at it with a savage joy.

“George, George, what has happened?”

“My dear, I have an idea—­a wonderful idea.”

“What idea?”

“We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey.”

Clara screamed.

“Are you in your senses, George?”

“Never more so.”

“But it’s broiling hot!”

“Hotter than that.”

“It is simply deluged with mosquitoes.”

“There are several mosquitoes there.”

“It’s a hole in the ground!”

“It certainly is.”

“And the only people we know there are the Jimmy Lakes, whom I detest.”

“I can’t bear them.”

“And, George, there are burglars!”

“Yes, my dear,” I said triumphantly, “heaven be praised there are burglars!”

Clara looked at me.  She is very quick.

“You are thinking of the silver.”

“Of all the silver.”

“But, George, can we afford it?”

“Afford what?”

“To have the silver stolen.”

“Supposing there was a burglar insurance, as a reward.”

The next moment Clara was laughing in my arms.

“Oh, George, you are a wonderful, brilliant man:  how did you ever think of it?”

“I just put my mind to it,” I said loftily.

IV

We went to Lone Tree, New Jersey.  We went there early to meet the migratory spring burglar.  We released from storage two chests and three barrels of solid silver wedding presents, took out a burglar insurance for three thousand dollars and proceeded to decorate the dining-room and parlor.

“It looks rather—­rather nouveau riche,” said Clara, surveying the result.

“My dear, say the word—­it is vulgar.  But what of that?  We have come here for a purpose and we will not be balked.  Our object is to offer every facility to the gentlemen who will relieve us of our silver.  Nothing concealed, nothing screwed to the floor.”