ed, the service poor, and the food the worst served
on the beach-front, but there was the very strong possibility that
someone would inadvertently touch a sensitive nerve and he would "fly
off the handle." When that happened, Mr. Cone dreaded the outcome.

Such were conditions at The Colonial when the folders arrived announcing
the opening of the Lolabama Ranch to tourists--the name meaning Happy
Wigwam. Messrs. Macpherson and Fripp, it stated, were booking guests for
the remainder of the season and urged those who had a taste for the
Great Outdoors to consider what they had to offer. The folders created a
sensation. They came in the morning after a night of excessive heat and
humidity. The guests found them in their mail when, fishy-eyed and
irritable, they went in to breakfast.

A new elevator boy who had jarred them by the violence of his stops had
not improved their tempers, therefore few of them failed to comment to
Mr. Cone upon the increasing wretchedness of the service.

While they fanned themselves and prophesied a day that was going to be a
"scorcher" they read of a country where the nights were so cool that
blankets were necessary, where the air was so invigorating that langour
was unheard of, with such a variety of scenery that the eye never
wearied. There were salt baths that made the old young again, big game
in the mountains for the adventurous, fishing, with bait in untold
quantities, saddle-horses for equestrians, innumerable walks for
pedestrians, an excellent table provided with the best the market
offered, and, finally, a tour of the Yellowstone Park under the personal
guidance of the hosts of The Lolabama in a stage-coach drawn by four
horses, by motor, or on horseback as suited their pleasure.

Small wonder that life on The Colonial veranda suddenly looked tame
after reading the folder and studying the pictures! Their discontent
took the form of an increasing desire to nag Mr. Cone. Vaguely they held
him responsible for the heat, the humidity, the monotony of the ocean,
and their loss of appetite due to lack of exercise.

On an impulse, Mr. Henry Appel, after consulting with his wife, got up
abruptly and went inside for the purpose of having a plain talk with Mr.
Cone.

Mr. Cone, who was making out the weekly bills, pretended not to see him
until he cleared his throat and said very distinctly:

"May I have your attention, Mr. Cone?"

Quaking, Mr. Cone stepped forward briskly and apologized.