Later a clerk in charge of the registry book took us in hand, and then I heard him explaining that his lungs were not in good shape.  He had come a long way—­Denver, I believe.  He had heard that all one needed to do was to wire, especially one in his circumstances.

“Some people think that way,” solemnly commented the clerk, “but they don’t know Mr. Culhane.  He does about as he pleases in these matters.  He doesn’t do this any more to make money but rather to amuse himself, I think.  He always has more applicants than he accepts.”

I began to see a light.  Perhaps there was something to this place after all.  I did not even partially sense the drift of the situation, though, until bedtime when, after having been served a very frugal meal and shown to my very simple room, a kind of cell, promptly at nine o’clock lights were turned off.  I lit a small candle and was looking over some things which I had placed in a grip, when I heard a voice in the hall outside:  “Candles out, please!  Candles out!  All guests in bed!” Then it came to me that a very rigorous regime was being enforced here.

The next morning as I was still soundly sleeping at five-thirty a loud rap sounded at my door.  The night before I had noticed above my bed a framed sign which read:  “Guests must be dressed in running trunks, shoes and sweater, and appear in the gymnasium by six sharp.”  “Gymnasium at six!  Gymnasium at six!” a voice echoed down the hall.  I bounced out of bed.  Something about the very air of the place made me feel that it was dangerous to attempt to trifle with the routine here.  The tiger-like eyes of my host did not appeal to me as retaining any softer ray in them for me than for others.  I had paid my six hundred ...  I had better earn it.  I was down in the great room in my trunks, sweater, dressing-gown, running shoes in less than five minutes.

And that room!  By that time as odd a company of people as I have ever seen in a gymnasium had already begun to assemble.  The leanness! the osseosity! the grandiloquent whiskers parted in the middle! the mustachios! the goatees! the fat, Hoti-like stomachs! the protuberant knees! the thin arms! the bald or semi-bald pates! the spectacles or horn glasses or pince-nezes!—­laid aside a few moments later, as the exercises began.  Youth and strength in the pink of condition, when clad only in trunks, a sweater and running shoes, are none too acceptable—­but middle age!  And out in the world, I reflected rather sadly, they all wore the best of clothes, had their cars, servants, city and country houses perhaps, their factories, employees, institutions.  Ridiculous!  Pitiful!  As lymphatic and flabby as oysters without their shells, myself included.  It was really painful.