"Very well then," said Quimbleton. "The facts are before you. I suppose The Evening Balloon has made its customary enterprising preparations to report the big parade?" 

 "Why, yes," said Bleak. "Three photographers and three of our most brilliant reporters have been assigned to cover the event. One of the stories, dealing with pathetic incidents of the procession, has already been written—cases of women swooning in the vast throng, and so on. The Balloon is always first," he added, by force of habit. 

 "I want you to discard all your plans for describing the parade," said Quimbleton. "I am about to give you the greatest scoop in the history of journalism. The procession will break up in confusion. All that will be necessary to say can be said in half a dozen lines, which I will give you now. I suggest that you print them on your front page in the largest possible type." 

 From his pocket he took a sheet of paper, neatly folded, and handed it across the table. 

 "What on earth do you mean?" asked Bleak. "How can you know what will happen?" 

 "The Corporation has spoken," said his host. "Let us go indoors, where you can read what I have written." 

 In a small handsomely appointed library Bleak opened the paper. It was a sheet of official stationery and read as follows:— 

 

     THE CORPORATION FOR THE PERPETUATION OF HAPPINESS Cable Address: Hapcorp Virgil Quimbleton, Associate Director 1316 Caraway Street 

 Owing to the intoxication of Bishop Chuff, the projected parade of the Pan-Antis broke up in confusion. Federal Home for Inebriates at Cana, N.J., reopened after two years' vacation. 

 

 "Is this straight stuff?" asked Bleak tremulously. 

 "My right hand upon it," cried Quimbleton, tearing off his beard in his earnestness. 

 "Then good-night!" said Bleak. "I must get back to the office." 

 

 Prev. P 13/67 next