"Looks that way," said Jarrod. "What's that cottage standing in the middle of yonder avenue?" "Oh, that belongs to old man Easton." "Why is it there?" "Why, lake front lots are scarce, you know; but cottages on the lake front rent for good money. So Easton built one in the street, and rents it at a high figure. Clever scheme, ain't it?" "Didn't the cottage owners object?" "It was built in the winter, when no one was here. When the resorters came in the spring and saw it, they wailed an' tore their hair. But it was too late, then. While they swore, Easton prayed for 'em; he's religious. The old saint's got lots o' cottages on public grounds, but no one can make him tear 'em down because we control the public grounds ourselves. Whatever's public here belongs to me an' Easton. Understand?" "Perfectly." "Here's where the big stock-yards man from Chicago lives. Pretty place, eh? And here's the cottage of George B. Still, the magnate of Quincy." "I've met him." "Fine fellow, and so's his wife. One of the largest grocery bills, sir, at the Park! Ah, here we come to the cottage of the famous philanthropist from Chicago Commons--Professor Graylor. Used to be a rich man, but spent everything he had to convert the heathen dagos of the Windy City. Now all he's got left is this cottage and a clear conscience--poor man!" "Why do you say 'poor man'?" "Because, dear boy, a clear conscience ain't an available asset. I've got one myself, and I know," said Wilder, plaintively. "But here we are at Maple Walk--one of the most picturesque avenues in town. Please climb these few steps; it is on this walk your charming cottage stands." "Mine?" "To be sure. No man of judgment, dear boy, would refuse to buy it, and I can see you're a good bit wiser than the average resorter. I'm _so_ glad you came!" "Thank you." "You're just the sort of man we need, Mr. Jarrod--the sort we're always lookin' for." "To walk on your streets and repair your sidewalks?" "Exactly." "And patronize your mercantile establishments?" Wilder laughed heartily. "Why not?" he asked, laying a familiar and caressing hand on the other's shoulder. "You've got to live; an' poor Wilder's got to live." "Poor Wilder can't help living, it seems to me," returned Jarrod, reflectively. "All these people are forced to trade with you, because there's no one else to patronize. You've established a monopoly here." "It ain't that," said Wilder, becoming serious. "I don't want to monopolize anything, I'm sure. All I want is for people to come here and have a good time, and I can't trust anyone but myself to give 'em the right service and the right goods at the right prices. That's why I run everything myself--and lose money year after year a-doin' it." "How can you lose money?"