but--well, you shall see.

Yet, curiously enough, though we are a long way from where this story
opened, it all goes back to Phillips Brooks Vanderbilt and the Fat and
Skinny Club and the right to call ourselves by what names we please.
Moreover, as must be apparent, all that happened occurred beyond Miss
Wiggin's sphere of spiritual influence. Yet, had it not, even she could
not have harnessed Leviathan or loosed the bands of Orion--to say
nothing of counteracting the effect of spring.

When Tutt returned with "76 Fed." after the departure of Mr. Sorg he
found his partner smoking the usual stogy and gazing pensively down upon
the harbor. The immediate foreground was composed of rectangular roofs
of divers colors, mostly reddish, ornamented with eccentrically shaped
chimney pots, pent-houses, skylights and water tanks, in addition to
various curious whistle-like protuberances from which white wraiths of
steam whirled and danced in the gay breeze. Beyond, in the middle
distance, a great highway of sparkling jewels led across the waves to
the distant faintly green hills of Staten Island. Three tiny aeroplanes
wove invisible threads against the blue woof of the sky above the New
Jersey shore. It was not a day to practise law at all. It was a day to
lie on one's back in the grass and watch the clouds or throw one's
weight against the tugging helm of a racing sloop and bite the spindrift
blown across her bows--not a day for lawyers but for lovers!

"Here's '76 Fed.'," said Tutt.

"What's become of Sorg?"

"Gone. Mad. Says the whole point of the Fat and Skinny Club is in the