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."