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“But, my dear fellow,” cried Max Skye, “you don’t really mean that.”

Saunders Rook curbed an exigent impulse to recant on the spot, and replied firmly:

“But I do mean it.”

A woman member in a far corner called:

“Would you mind repeating what you said? I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

Saunders Rook cleared his throat and said again,

“On the Fourth of July I shall commit suicide.”

The members began to shift their chairs so that they could more plainly see and hear him.

“But why?” asked Lucile Davega.

“Yes, why?” came from other members. Some were a little excited.

Saunders Rook had not thought that far ahead, and the question confused him. He wanted very much to say, “Of course, I was only jesting.” No, he couldn’t do that. What a dolt they’d think him! Hastily, he ransacked his brain, cleared his throat to gain time, and declared:

“As a protest against the state of civilization in America.”

Again sheer inspiration. The state of civilization, up to that moment, had never worried him. He heard an interested ripple run round the room.