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“But you said the weather was varied,” objected Sam.

“But it’s winter weather all the time, just as school’s school, no matter whether you’re reciting Greek or trigonometry. Then there’s another point. In summer people are coming and going, and making visits; in winter everybody’s shut up more or less. We don’t get enough human variety.”

Sam rubbed his chin. “Why—why, I don’t know but there’s something in your notion, after all,” he admitted.

“There’s a lot!” Poke insisted triumphantly.

It was not often that the Shark laughed; but he laughed now in a fashion which made his friends turn to him in surprise.

“Ha, ha! You chaps seem to forget that we have with us in this town one Paul Varley. If he isn’t a queer variety of human, I’ll square the circle for you—and that’s something nobody has done yet.”

“Oh, Varley!”

“What! That dude?”

“What have we got to do with him?”

“Say! Isn’t he the limit?”

The Shark listened calmly to these remarks of his friends.

“Well, I said he represented variety, and I stick to it,” quoth he drily.