"How is it?" said Von Blumer, as, with his teeth clenched, one hand grasping the steering apparatus, the other on the clutch, he bent forward like a jockey winning a race. On and on they went. It seemed as if they were covering the whole State. "Splendid! Have you any idea where we are going?" "Not the slightest. That's the beauty about these machines. If you get lost, you can cover so much ground that you can always get home." They were coming to a hill. Von Blumer smiled gayly. "Now I'll show you," he said, "how the Roadrun takes a hill. Have you ever seen a fly going up on a wall? Well, that's just the way this machine acts." They went forward with a scurry and a whir. Then, as the celebrated Roadrun felt the elevation, it gradually slowed down. "Now watch!" chuckled Von Blumer. "Here goes for the hill climber." He turned back the lever, and brought it forward again. The machine gave a series of bronchial snorts-evidently snorts of displeasure. There were a few gasps and then-silence. Mrs. Von Blumer grasped her husband's arm. "We are backing down hill," she cried. "We've lost the power," said Von Blumer, as he gazed fearfully behind, still, however, retaining his presence of mind. "Don't worry," he added. "Here goes for the brakes." He jammed down first the foot brake and then the emergency brake. But for some reason, unknown even to Von Blumer's mechanical and logical intellect, the auto resented the intrusion of a brake. As long as it couldn't go forward, it was bound to go backward. And every instant it gathered impetus. Von Blumer, in the space of thirty seconds, began to get a first-class idea of his past life. Suddenly a man came out of a house and shouted at him: "Back your machine in here-in here!" Von Blumer obeyed mechanically. The auto flew down over the curb and over the sidewalk into the man's front lawn. Mrs. Von Blumer sprang out. "I'll never ride in that thing again as long as I live," she sobbed. Von Blumer, experiencing that revulsion of feeling that sometimes comes after a crisis, jumped down and faced her. "Nor I," he exclaimed. "I'll sell the blamed thing for thirty cents. Darling, I'm an ass. I've had the fever and I'm over it. Horses for me." Regardless of their savior, they embraced. And then, as if by mutual impulse, they turned to the quiet, amused man, who looked at them with a fatherly eye. It was Caterby. Von Blumer gazed at his neighbor in grim astonishment. "Where did you drop from?" he exclaimed. "We must at least be two hundred miles from home." Caterby smiled a large, charitable smile and waved his hand at the house next door. "I told you how it would be," he said. "Why, in one of those instruments of the devil you can't even keep track of yourself. You've been going around in a circle. Don't you see that's your house, and this is my house?" Happiness is the feeling we experience when we are too busy to be miserable. HOW TO MAKE A SUMMER RESORT. BUY about ten carloads of assorted lumber, and move it to any stretch of sand on the American coast, far enough away from a railroad station to make a stage line profitable. Arrange the lumber so that it will stand up and keep off the rain, and nail together with a few tenpenny nails. whole any bright color. Paint the Now, from what is left over make a board walk four miles long and four feet wide. From what is left of the board walk erect a row of bath houses. Make each compartment so small that a guest will have to live at the hotel for a week before he is thin enough to undress in it. Put at one side a shelf with the splinter side up, to sit down on when tired. Go to a hardware shop and buy an electric plant, and string one wire in the hotel office, another on the cupola on top and the third on the flagstaff in front. Let the rest of the place, including the piazza and surroundings, be in total darkness. Order from a department store one good sized towel, and divide it into as many pieces as there will be guests, say one for every three guests. Buy from an auction room a set of beds that no one else wants, and from the navy yard some discarded armor, which makes fine summer hotel bed springs. Have the space between the bed and the sides of each room fully wide enough to admit. a good-sized skeleton. Now go to any reputable burglar agency and secure a complete band of skillful robbers, including a head robber and a robber for each dining-room table. After this has been done buy one small cow, one large pump and arrange with a canning factory to furnish enough fresh vegetables each week to supply one-half the guests. Secure from a deaf and dumb asylum one man with a sixty-carat rhinestone, to stand behind the counter. Go to the back of the structure, dig a cellar large enough to accommodate all the male guests, cover it with blinds, label it "barber shop," and fill it with the worst beer, wine and whiskey that the ingenuity of man has been able to devise. Your summer resort is now ready for use. All you need is to advertise judiciously, and never allow any guest to escape with a red cent in his pocket. AN INTERVIEW. I PRESSED the lily of the valley in the front door of Cupid's residence-rather a neat device, by the way-and there was a merry twinkle inwardly that announced my presence. An elf in vellum bowed low. "My master," he observed, "is not well to-day, but he is always glad to see an amateur in affairs of the heart. Enter." I found our old friend and benefactor sitting in an invalid's chair. "Well, well," I exclaimed. "This is sad. What's the trouble?" Cupid smiled grimly. "Nothing serious," he said. "I was over in Boston the other day and caught cold. Nasty place that." "I didn't suppose," I ventured, "that you were so delicate." "I'm delicate," said Cupid, "but wiry. A night in Newport will drive me to drink. I find that as time goes on I am more easily worn out." "But I had no idea that you were any sort of an invalid.” "I'm not!" said my host testily. "But this modern life is telling on me." "Have you tried some of our modern remedies?" "Well, I should say! Christian Science nearly did me up. I was worse after it than before. Then I tried the gold cure. No use. I'm nervous. People affect me." "But surely Cupid rang the bell. "Bring us a siphon of nectar and some Scotch," he said. "Yes," he continued, "that's what I mean. Take girls, for instance. I used to be fond of girls-girls in general, you know. Of course there are some I take to yet. But as a whole, they're not what they used to be. Those Puritan maids. were great! Now-well, take the summer girl. She ignores me almost completely, and manages by herself." "What you need," I observed, "is a good long rest.” "Nothing of the sort," said Cupid. "Solitude? Bah! What I need is the right folks." "You seem in a bad way." Cupid sipped his glass. It apparently revived him. He turned in his chair. A radiance came over his face. "Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I just happened to be thinking of that last trip I made, and it put me in a pessimistic mood. London, Paris, Boston, Newport, Waldorf- But it will be all right. I'll pick up in the next few days, because I'm going "Where?" I asked. "Slumming," said Cupid. THE WAY OF IT. Once I met four philosophers Who argued all day long; And each one thought that he was right |