"It sounds promising," said Jarrod. "Guess I'll go. My wife remarked yesterday we ought to escape the summer's heat on the children's account. This idea will please her--and it pleases me. I used to fish when I was a boy. And hunt. How's the hotel, Brush?" "Bad as possible. Take a cottage. That's the only way to enjoy life." "How can I get a cottage?" "Oh, ask Wilder, when you get to Tamawaca. There are always cottages to rent. But stay! you might take Grant's place. He's a St. Louis man, and I understand his cottage is for rent. I'll write and ask him, if you like." "Do, old fellow. And thank you very much." He went home and told Mrs. Jarrod, who was delighted with the plan. "Where did you say it was?" she asked. "On Lake Michigan, somewhere. I forget the name of the place." "How do you get there?" "I didn't enquire." "And whose cottage are you going to rent?" "Why,--it belongs to a man in St. Louis. Dr. Brush knows him." Mrs. Jarrod asked no more questions, but she straightway put on her bonnet and called upon Mrs. Brush. In an hour she knew all that was necessary about Tamawaca. The clergyman got a reply, in course of time, from Grant of St. Louis. His cottage was in Wilder's hands to rent. Jarrod must see Wilder about it as soon as he got to Tamawaca. It was all furnished and ready to move into. "Who is Wilder?" Jarrod asked his friend. "Wilder! Oh, I forgot you don't know Tamawaca," said Dr. Brush. "Therefore you don't know Wilder. Wilder is Tamawaca." "I see," returned Jarrod, nodding. "Oh, no you don't. You _think_ you see, I've no doubt. But there is only one Wilder upon earth, and perhaps that is fortunate. You've been in with those pirate Crosbys for years. Well, Wilder is the Crosby--in other words the pirate--of Tamawaca. See now?" "He runs things, eh?" "Yes; for Wilder. A charming fellow, by the way. Looks like a cherub, and acts like----" "You interest me," said Jarrod, brightening. "I'm glad I'm going to Tamawaca." A few days later the Jarrods--bag and baggage, parents and children--travelled up to Chicago and landed in the morning at the Auditorium Annex. A little fat man stood before the counter in front of Jarrod and winked saucily at the clerk. His face was moon-shaped and rosy, guiltless of whisker, and bore an expression at once gentle and whimsical. "Gimme the best room you have," he called out, while scribbling his name on the register. "Ah, a twenty-dollar suite?" asked the clerk, cheerfully. "Hear me out!" retorted the little man. "Gimme the best room you have for four dollars a day." "Oh," said the clerk, his jaw dropping. "Here, front! show the gentleman up to 1906. Any baggage, sir?" "Just my wife," sighed the little man, with another wink, and a stout lady of ample proportions grabbed his arm and whisked him away. She didn't seem at all offended, but laughed pleasantly and said: "Now, George, behave yourself!"