But still he was not content. One morning, not long before the date set for his sailing, he sat gloomily at his desk. He was engaged in making his will, and had found to his secret bitterness that after bequeathing a few personal trinkets to the office staff there was really no one to whom he could leave the bulk of his misfortune. Theodolinda, of course, he had quite cut off from his estate. He only knew that she was living somewhere with the degraded Quimbleton, carrying on a little psychic tavern which no laws could reach, in a state of criminal happiness. From the street, far beneath his open window, he heard the clamor of a police patrol and leaned eagerly over the sill in the hope of seeing something that would cheer his black mood. But it was only a man being arrested for leaning against a lamp-post--a rather common offence at that time, for most of the normal occupations of the citizens had been prohibited, and they mooned about the highways in a state of listless discontent. But then, farther down the channel of the street, he saw something that caught his eye. A group of people were marching with flags and signs toward the railway station. SATURDAY SCHOOL PICNIC TO SOUSE TEMPLE, he read on a banner. He noticed that in spite of all the laws against smiling in public, these people bore a look of suppressed merriment. They were obviously out for a good time. A sudden thought struck him. That afternoon, in impenetrable disguise, the Bishop paid his first visit to the Temple of Dunraven Bleak. The next morning, when his subordinates came to see him about the final plans for his departure, they were horrified to find him sitting at his desk wearing in the recesses of his beard what would have been called (on any other man) a smile. "I have changed my mind," he said. "I am not going away." They cried out in amazement, and pointed out to him how sorely in need of relaxation he was. "I am planning relaxation," he said, and that was all they could get out of him. Later in the day a confidential messenger was dispatched to the private printing press of the Chuff Organization, bearing the text of a poster which was found broadcast over the whole country a few days later. It ran thus: AT THE NEXT ELECTION For Perpetual Souse VOTE FOR CHUFF The People's Friend THE END