were under our special care. We saw how much anguish is caused by
the passion of jealousy. Many an engaged damsel, tempted to mild
escapade in some perfumed conservatory, found her heart chilled by
the stern eye of a uniformed C.P.H. agent lurking behind a potted
hydrangea. We hired bands of urchins to make faces at evil old men
who plate-glass themselves in the windows of clubs. Many a
husband, wondering desperately which hat or which tie to select,
has been surprised by the appearance of one of our staff at his
elbow, tactfully pointing out which article would best harmonize
with his complexion and station in life. Ladies who insisted on
overpowdering their noses were quietly waylaid by one of our
matrons, and the excess of rice-dust removed. A whole shipload of
people who persisted in eating onions were gathered (without any
publicity) into a concentration camp, and in company with several
popular comedians, deported to a coral atoll. I could enumerate
thousands of such instances. For several years we worked in this
unassuming way, trying to add to the sum of human happiness."

Quimbleton's white beard shone with a pinkish brightness as he
inhaled heavily on his cigar.

"Now, Mr. Bleak," he went on, "I come to you because we need your
help. We can no longer maintain a light-hearted sniping campaign
on the enemies of human happiness. This is a death struggle. You
are aware that Chuff and his legions are planning a tremendous
parade for to-morrow. You know that it will be the most startling
demonstration of its kind ever arranged. One hundred thousand pan-
antis will parade on the Boulevard, with a hundred brass bands,
led by the Bishop himself on his coal black horse. Do you know the
purpose of the parade?"