These particulars were calculated to excite Swezey in the highest degree. He wrote a letter on the subject to the Chanticleer, a newspaper in Troy, Ill., of which he was a correspondent, and it was copied, with zinco-type illustrations, into all the journals of the habitable globe, and came back to England like the fabled boomerang. Meanwhile Swezey was cruising about, in town and country, looking out for persons wearing silver gridirons. He never found any, and the more he inquired, the more puzzled he became. He was informed that a treatise on the subject existed, but neither at the British Museum, nor at any of the newspaper offices, could he obtain an example of this rare work, which people asserted that they had seen and read.
Finally Swezey made the acquaintance of a lady who was rumoured darkly to be learned in the matter. To her he poured forth expressions of his consuming desire to be initiated, and to sacrifice at the shrine.
"There is not any shrine," said his acquaintance.
"Well, I guess I want bad to be a Soul—an honorary one, of course—a temporary member."
"There are conditions," said the Priestess.
"If there's a subscription"——Swezey began.
"There is not any subscription."
"If there's an oath"——
"There is not any oath."