joining the hotel at a right angle. Spacious and graceful it looked
as it reared its uprights into the air.

Already you could see the place where the row of windows was to come,
a veritable palace of glass, it must be, so wide and commodious were
they. Below it, you could see the basement shaping itself, with a low
ceiling like a vault and big beams running across, dressed, smoothed,
and ready for staining. Already in the street there were seven crates
of red and white awning.

And even then nobody knew what it was, and it was not till the
seventeenth day that Mr. Smith, in the privacy of the back bar, broke
the silence and explained.

"I tell you, boys," he says, "it's a caff--like what they have in the
city--a ladies' and gent's caff, and that underneath (what's yours,
Mr. Mullins?) is a Rats' Cooler. And when I get her started, I'll
hire a French Chief to do the cooking, and for the winter I will put
in a 'girl room,' like what they have in the city hotels. And I'd
like to see who's going to close her up then."

Within two more weeks the plan was in operation. Not only was the
caff built but the very hotel was transformed. Awnings had broken
out in a red and white cloud upon its face, its every window carried
a box of hanging plants, and above in glory floated the Union Jack.
The very stationery was changed. The place was now Smith's Summer
Pavilion. It was advertised in the city as Smith's Tourists'
Emporium, and Smith's Northern Health Resort. Mr. Smith got the
editor of the Times-Herald to write up a circular all about ozone and
the Mariposa pine woods, with illustrations of the maskinonge (piscis