While they fanned themselves and prophesied a day that was going to be a "scorcher" they read of a country where the nights were so cool that blankets were necessary, where the air was so invigorating that langour was unheard of, with such a variety of scenery that the eye never wearied. There were salt baths that made the old young again, big game in the mountains for the adventurous, fishing, with bait in untold quantities, saddle-horses for equestrians, innumerable walks for pedestrians, an excellent table provided with the best the market offered, and, finally, a tour of the Yellowstone Park under the personal guidance of the hosts of The Lolabama in a stage-coach drawn by four horses, by motor, or on horseback as suited their pleasure. Small wonder that life on The Colonial veranda suddenly looked tame after reading the folder and studying the pictures! Their discontent took the form of an increasing desire to nag Mr. Cone. Vaguely they held him responsible for the heat, the humidity, the monotony of the ocean, and their loss of appetite due to lack of exercise. On an impulse, Mr. Henry Appel, after consulting with his wife, got up abruptly and went inside for the purpose of having a plain talk with Mr. Cone. Mr. Cone, who was making out the weekly bills, pretended not to see him until he cleared his throat and said very distinctly: "May I have your attention, Mr. Cone?" Quaking, Mr. Cone stepped forward briskly and apologized. Ignoring the apology, Mr. Appel began impressively: "You cannot have failed to see, Mr. Cone, that my wife and I have been thoroughly dissatisfied this summer, as we have been at no great pains to conceal it. We have been coming here for twenty-two seasons, but we feel that we cannot put up with things any longer and are hereby giving you notice that next Thursday our room will be at your disposal." "Is it anything in particular--anything which I can remedy? Perhaps you will reconsider." Mr. Cone pleaded, looking from one to the other. "Last night--at dinner"--Mrs. Appel eyed him accusingly--"I found--an eyewinker--in the hard sauce." Mr. Cone stammered: "I'm v-very sorry--it was not my eyewinker--such things will happen--I will speak to the pastry cook and ask him to be careful----" Mr. Budlong, who had come in to lay his grievance before Mr. Cone, interrupted: "For two mornings Mrs. Budlong and myself have been awakened by the man with the vacuum cleaner who has wanted to work in our room before we were out of it. I should judge," he said, acidly, "that you recruit your servants from the Home for the Feeble-minded, and, personally, I am sick of it!" "It is almost impossible to get competent help," Mr. Cone protested. "The man shall be discharged and I promise you no further annoyance." Mr. Budlong, nudged by his wife, was not to be placated. "Our week is up Monday, and we are leaving." Miss Mattie Gaskett, encouraged by the conversation to which she had listened, declared with asperity: