the Cottswold authorities would become my
adversaries, too ... the only thing I can do," he added, "is what I
meant to do all along,--as soon as our 'city' has grown important
enough--have 'Perfection City' made a postoffice."

"And then make enemies of both towns at once?"

He threw up his hands in despair and walked away.

* * * * *

Having quit work with the gang that was laying out the streets of the
future city through the pines, I was entirely out of the few dollars my
several weeks' work had enabled me to save ... though but little was
needed to exist by, in that community of simple livers ... my procuring
my tent free had rendered me quite independent....

One afternoon Barton met me on the dam-head.

"Come on in swimming with me ... I have something to talk with you
about," he said.

We swam around and talked, as nonchalantly as two other men would have
done, sitting in their club.

"How would you like to work for me again?"

"What is it you want me to work at?"

"I need a cook for my nature restaurant ... can you cook?"

I thought. I knew his present cook, MacGregor, the Scot, and I didn't
want to do him out of a job. Besides, I didn't know how to cook.

The first objection Barton read in my face.

"MacGregor is quitting ... I'm not firing him."

"All right ... I'll take the job."

Our conference over, we had climbed out to the top of the dam, slid
over, and were now standing beneath. The water galloped down in a snowy
cataract of foam, as we topped off our swim with the heavy "shower-bath"
that was like a massage in its pummelling.

* * * * *

MacGregor good-naturedly stayed an extra week, saying he'd show me the
run of things. Secretly he tried to teach me how to cook....

As the cooking was not all of the "nature" order, but involved preparing
food for a horde of people we called "outsiders" who were employed in
Barton's publishing plant, I would have to prepare meat and bake bread
and make tea and coffee....

Barton confessed to me that a food-compromise was distasteful to him.
But he could not coerce. While lecturing about the country it was often,
even with him, "eat beefsteaks or starve!"

MacGregor was a professional Scotchman, just as there are professional
Irishmen, Englishmen and professional Southern Gentlemen ... every
Scotchman is a professional Scotchman ... but there is always something
pleasant and poetic a