California
limiteds or Havana liners, he holds hard in that den of his, with its
floor and walls of sanitary tiling and its ceiling of white enamel,
and hews--or grinds rather, for Sandford is a dental surgeon--close to
the line.

All through the heat of summer, doggedly superior to the call of
Colorado or the Adirondacks or the Thousand Islands, he comes and
departs by the tick of the clock. Base-ball fans find him adamant;
turf devotees, marble; golf enthusiasts, cold as the tiles beneath his
feet.

Even in early June, when Dalton, whose suburban home is next door,
returns, tanned and clear-eyed from a week-end at _the_ lake--there is
but one lake to Dalton--and calls him mysteriously back to the rear
of the house, where, with a flourish, the cover is removed from a box
the expressman has just delivered, to disclose a shining five-pound
bass reposing upon its bed of packed ice--even then, hands in pockets,
Sandford merely surveys and expresses polite congratulation. Certainly
it is a fine fish, a noble fish, even; but for the sake of one like
it--or, yes, granted a dozen such--to leave the office, the
sanitary-tiled office, deserted for four whole days (especially when
Dr. Corliss on the floor below is watching like a hawk)--such a crazy
proceeding is not to be thought of.

Certainly he will not go along the next week end--or the next, either.
The suggestion simply is unthinkable. Such digressions may be all
right for the leisure class or for invalids; but for adults, live
ones, strong and playing the game? A shrug and a tolerant smile end
the discussion, as, hands still in his pockets, an after-dinner cigar
firm between his teeth, Sandford saunters back across the dozen feet
of sod separating his own domicile from that of his fallen and
misguided neighbor.

"Dalton's got the fever again, bad," he comments to the little woman
upon his own domain, whom he calls "Polly," or "Mrs. Sandford," as
occasion dictates. She has been watching the preceding incident with
inscrutable eyes.

"Yes?" Polly acknowledges, with the air of harkening to a familiar
harangue while casting ahead, in anticipation of what was to come
next.

"Curious about Dalton; peculiar twist to his mental machinery
somewhere." Sandford blows a cloud of smoke and eyes it meditatively.
"Leaving business that way, chopping it all to pieces in fact; and
just for a fish! Curious!"

"Harry's got something back there that'll probably interest you," he