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On this Sunday evening it was even more singularly tidy than usual. Only five people had come that afternoon for "Riverside Teas." There had been three, quite disastrous weekends: on two of them it had rained, and on this particular Sunday there had been what local people spoke of as "the aeronaut"—a balloon ascent from the fairground, with tea in tents, ice cream, candy floss, and roundabouts. On Saturday people drove out to see the balloon itself (at sixpence a time to pass the rope barriers) and today in the hundreds to see the balloon go up. It had been a sad sight indeed for Mr. and Mrs. Platter to watch the carriages and motors stream past Ballyhoggin with never a glance nor a thought for "Riverside Teas." It had not comforted them, either, when at about three o'clock in the afternoon the balloon itself sailed silently over them, barely clearing the ilex tree, which grew beside the house. They could even see "the aeronaut," who was looking down—mockingly, it seemed—straight into the glaring eyes of Mr. Platter.

    "No good saying, 'There must be something,'" he told her irritably. "Night and day I've thought and thought and you've thought too. What with this balloon mania and Abel Pott's latest, we can't compete. That's all: it's quite simple. There isn't anything—short of stealing them."
    "What about that?" said Mrs. Platter.
    "About what?"
    "Stealing them," said Mrs. Platter.
    Mr. Platter stared back at her. He opened his mouth and shut it again. "Oh, we couldn't do that," he managed to say at last.
    "Why not?" said Mrs. Platter. "He hasn't shown them yet. Nobody knows they're there."
    "Why, it would be—I mean, it's a felony."
    "Never mind," said Mrs. Platter. "Let's commit one."
    "Oh, Mabel," gasped Mr. Platter, "what things you do say!" But he looked slightly awe-struck and admiring.
    "Other people commit them," said Mrs. Platter firmly, basking in the glow of his sudden approbation. "Why shouldn't we?"
    "Yes, I see your argument," said Mr. Platter. He still looked rather dazed.
    "There's got to be a first time for everything," Mrs. Platter pointed out.
    "But—" He swallowed nervously. "You go to prison for a felony. I don't mind a few extra items on a bill; I'm game for that, dear. Always was, as you well know. But this—oh Mabel, it takes you to think of a thing like this!"
    "Well, I said there'd be something," acknowledged Mrs. Platter modestly. "But it's only common sense, dear. We can't afford not to."
    "You're right," said Mr. Platter, "we're driven to it. Not a soul could blame us."
    "Not a living soul!" agreed Mrs. Platter solemnly in a bravely fervent voice.
    Mr. Platter leaned across the table and patted her hand. "I take my hat off to you, Mabel, for courage and initiative. You're a wonderful woman," he said.
    "Thank you, dear," said Mrs. Platter.
    "And now for ways and means..." said Mr. Platter in a suddenly businesslike voice. He took off his rimless glasses and thoughtfully began polishing them. "Tools, transport, times of day..."
    "It's simple," said Mrs. Platter. "You take the boat."
    "I realize that," said Mr. Platter with a kind of aloof patience. He put his rimless glasses back on his nose, returned the handkerchief to his pocket, leaned back in his chair, and with the fingers of his right hand drummed lightly on the table. "Allow me to think a while..."
    "Of course, Sidney," said Mrs. Platter obediently, and folded her hands in her lap.
    After a few moments, he cleared his throat and looked across at her. "You'll have to come with me, dear," he said.
    Mrs. Platter, startled, lost all her composure. "Oh, I couldn't do that, Sidney. You know what I'm like on the water. Couldn't you take one of the men?"
    He shook his head. "Impossible. They'd talk."
    "What about Agnes Mercy?"
    "Couldn't trust her, either; it would be all over the county before the week was out. No dear, it's got to be you."
    "I would come with you, Sidney," faltered Mrs. Platter, "say we went round by road. That boat's