"Disappointed, were you? How do you think
Jerry felt? Made a lot of difference to him, I tell
you, not selling his place to the club. Been a whole
year working it up. It's smothered now under a
blanket--about ninety per cent of its value--and
the Sunnybrook scheme would have pulled him out
with a margin! Now it's deader than last year's
shad. What the club wanted was a hatchery built
over a spring, and that's why that swamp was necessary
to the deal. Oh, you're the limit, Muggles!"

It was while smarting under these criticisms that
the steward one morning in June brought him his
letters. One was from Monteith--Class of '9l--a
senior when Muggles was a freshman--and was
postmarked "Wabacog, Canada," where Monteith
owned a lumber mill--and where he ran it himself
and everything connected with it from stumpage
to scantling. "There is a broad stream that
runs into the lake, ... and above the mill
there are bass weighing ten pounds, ... and
back in the primeval forest bears, ... and
now and then a moose--" So ran the letter. Muggles
had spread it wide open by this time and was
reading it aloud--everybody knowing Monteith--and
the group never having any secrets of this kind from
each other.

"Come up, old chap," the letter continued, "and