"Ducks!" breathlessly exclaimed Miss Demorest; but her interruption went unnoticed. Campbell Pope's features shone with the gentle light of a pleasurable remembrance. "It was lovely and quiet out there, just like Saskatchewan or the Soudan. Sometimes I fancied I must be close to the fringe of civilization, with the life of the outer world pulsing near at hand, for I could hear whispers of it; but I soon got over that idea. The local inhabitants were shy but friendly; they did me no harm. But--it was no place for ducks; they swam all over the pond and spent so much time catching bugs on the bottom that they had no leisure for family obligations on land." This gloomy recital met with an interest that prompted him to continue, whimsically: "There was no home life among those ducks--none whatever, but they could swim nearly as well as Miss Kellerman. They never took cramps, either, although they appeared to have chronic bronchitis; and they must have learned to breathe through their tails, because they stood on their heads for hours at a time--all I could see was acres of white tails sticking up like patches of Cubist pond-lilies. They swam all their fat off, and I had the pond dredged and never found an egg." Miss Demorest giggled audibly; she had lost all interest in her food; she was tingling with excitement. "Why didn't you fence them in?" she asked. Pope eyed her for a fleeting instant, then his gaze wavered. "I fenced in the whole pond to begin with. It nearly broke me." "A duck shouldn't have much water. What kind were they?" "Plymouth Rocks, or Holsteins, or Jersey Lilies--anyhow they were white." "White Pekins!" The critic frowned argumentatively. "What is a duck for if he isn't to swim? What is his object? We had six on my father's farm, and they swam all the time. Of course, six isn't many, but--" "Naturally they didn't do well--" "But they DID do well--and quite naturally, too. They did beautifully, in fact. They never had an ache or a pain. What do you know about ducks?" Adoree answered in a tone of calm and utter certainty: "I know everything. I've read hundreds, maybe thousands of duck books. I have a whole library of them." "A duck library. I thought so. But did you ever own a library of ducks? There's a difference. A man doesn't have to know anything to write a book--I've done it myself. Practical experience is the thing." "Did you keep cows for them?" Pope stared at his inquisitor for a moment; then he explained with patient politeness: "These were not carnivorous ducks. They ate bugs and fish and corn."