aggressive, but not at all provoked, face on the complainer.

"Are you certain your drains are not stopped up?" he asked.

"Oh, those drains are all right. It's that damp hollow over in Miss K's
woods that's making the trouble."

"I'll go there immediately," said the aggressive one. "She promised me
she would fill that place this week."

"All right, then," answered the placated bungalow-owner, "I thought
you'd fix it up if you found out about it. I certainly wouldn't have
bought around Darien if you had not cleared this place of mosquitoes."

The aggressive one plunged into the Connecticut woods and began his
search for possible mosquito-breeding spots. He was the "Mosquito Man,"
the self-appointed guardian of the Connecticut coast from Stamford to
Westport.

He was not born a Mosquito Man at all--in fact, he did not become one
until he was forty years old and had retired from business because he
had made enough money to rest and "enjoy life." But he did not rest, and
did not get enjoyment, for the mosquitoes had likewise leased his place
on the Sound and were making good their title.

Came then big fat mosquitoes from the swamp. Came mosquitoes from the
salt marshes. Some lighted on the owner's nose and some looked for his
ankles, and found them. Three days of this sort of rest made him decide
to move away. Then, because he was aggressive, he became the Mosquito
Man. The idea occurred to him when he had gone over to a distant island