SUNDAY was a nerve-racking problem in days when the New England tradition still held. There was no fishing, no tennis, no baseball, and no golf. Picnics were taboo. There was of course a large amount of eating to be done, but after fish-balls, griddle cakes, and pork and beans for breakfast, a heavy sermon, and a heavier roast beef for dinner, the long afternoon had to be lived through in a sort of penitential expiation. One dozen fed-to-bursting, painfully primped young human colts, ranging from fifteen to seventeen years of age, gathered in the Gutter Pup's barn and mournfully debated the eternal question of what to do. "It's too cold to sneak up to the old swimming hole," said Tacks disconsolately. "Why not have a few rounds with the mitts?" said the Gutter Pup eagerly. "In these duds?" said Happy Mather, who preferred to stand because when he sat down the Sunday collar pinched his throat. "Nothing doing! Thank you, but my governer's hand is still strong!" "We might organize a Browning Society," said Puffy Ellis, who came from Boston. "Bright boy!" "Oh, well, since we 're all dressed up and nowhere to go, we might as well do the society racket and call on the sweet things." "Girls!" said Skippy, sarcastically. "My aunt's cat's pants! Joe, what's got into you! You used to be human last summer. Girls! Girls! I vote we all go out and pick a bunch of dandelions for Joe Crocker to carry round." "Hold up," said the Gutter Pup. "You give me an idea." "If it's got anything to do with skirts," said Skippy, "au revoir and likewise good-by. I resign." "Shut up! When Razzle-dazzle starts to think, give him a chance," said Happy Mather. "Who asked your opinion? You're nothing but a tadpole, anyhow." "Well, what's the idea?" said Tacks. "It's a good one," said the Gutter Pup slowly. "It's a gag we used to pull off in the old Murray Hill Gang, the winter I put Spider Martin away in seven rounds. Spider was no great shakes with the mitts but he had some bright ideas. This is one of them. How many are we?" "Twelve." "Just right. Only it's got to be played dead serious, no horseplay, kiddin', or rough stuff." Just half an hour later Miss Connie Brown, aged sixteen, who was yawning over a novel on the chaise-lounge of her bedroom, was electrified into action by the announcement that two gentlemen callers were waiting for her in the parlor. Miss Connie was in excellent health, weighing one hundred and sixty pounds, rather freckled, and quite accustomed to watch her girl friends enjoying themselves in the ballroom. She bounded down the stairs and arrived, slightly out of breath, to find the Gutter Pup and Skippy stiffly erect. "Allow me to present my friend, Mr. Bedelle!" said the Gutter Pup in the correct tones of an undertaker. Miss Connie shook hands vigorously and said, beaming with surprised delight: