irected; the scum and the scruff of the town followed,
yelping not unlike a pack of hungry dogs.

John Kollander led the way to the country club grounds. There was a wide
stretch of rolling land, quiet, remote from passing intruders, safe; and
there great elm trees cast their protecting shade, even in the
starlight, over such deeds as men might wish to do in darkness.

It was nearly four o'clock and the clouds, banked high in the west, were
flaming with heat lightning.

On the wide veranda of the country club alone, with a siphon and a
fancy, square, black bottle, sat Judge Thomas Van Dorn. He was in his
shirt sleeves. His wilted collar, grimy and bedraggled, lay on the floor
beside him. He was laughing at something not visible to the waiter, who
sat drowsing in the door of the dining room, waiting for the Judge
either to go to sleep or to leave the club in his car. The Judge had
been singing to himself and laughing quietly at his own ribaldry for
nearly an hour. The heat had smothered the poker game in the basement
and except for the Judge and the waiter the club house was deserted. The
Judge hit the table with the black bottle and babbled:

"Dog bit a rye straw,
Dog bit a riddle-O!
Dog bit a little boy
Playing on a fiddle-O!"

Then he laughed and said to the sleepy waiter: "Didn't know I could
sing, did you, Gustave!"

The waiter grinned. The Judge did not hear a footstep behind him. The
waiter looked up and saw Kyle Perry.

"Oh, I know a maid
And she's not afraid
To face--

"Why, hello Kyle, you old stuttering scoundrel--have one on me--cleanses
the teeth--sweetens the breath and makes hair grow on your belly!"

He laughed and when Kyle broke in:

"S-s-say, T-T-Tom, the f-f-fellows are all over in the g-g-golf
l-l-links."

"The hell they are, Kyle," laughed the Judge. "Tell 'em to come over and
have a cold one on me--Gustave, you go--"

"B-b-but they d-don't want a drink. The p-p-poker b-b-bunch said you
were here and th-th-they s-s-sent m-m-me to--"

"S-s-s-sure they d-d-did, Kyle," interrupted Van Dorn. "They sent you to
read the Declaration of Independence to-morrow and wanted you to begin
now and get a g-g-good st-st-start!" He broke into song:

"Oh, there was an old man from Dundee
Who got on a hell of a spree,
Oh, he wound up the clock,
With--

"Say, Kyle," the Judge looked up foolishly, "you didn't know that I was
a cantatrice."