the miracle of Cana?" From his pocket he took a card and laid it
on the desk.

Bleak seized it. It said:

THE CORPORATION FOR THE PERPETUATION OF HAPPINESS

1316 Caraway Street

Virgil Quimbleton, Associate Director

He stared at the pasteboard, stupefied, and handed it to the city
editor.

Meanwhile the three reporters had drawn near. Light-hearted and
irresponsible souls, unoppressed by the embittered suspicion of
their superiors, they nosed the floating aroma with candid
hilarity.

"The breath of Eden!" said one.

"It's a warm evening," remarked another, with seeming irrelevance.

The face of Virgil Quimbleton, the man in gray, relaxed again at
these marks of honest appreciation. He waved an encouraging arm
over the crystals. "With the compliments of the Corporation," he
repeated.

Bleak and the city editor looked again at the card, and at each
other. They scanned the face of their mysterious benefactor.