The struggle commenced when the two lone policemen of Andersonville began to arrest us—­men and women—­when we walked into their town for provisions, clad in our bathing suits ... later on, we were forbidden to run for exercise, in our bathing suits, on the fine, macadamised road that passed not far from our dwellings ... it shocked the motorists.

Yet people came from far and near, just to be shocked.  That seems to be the chief, most delightful, and only lawfully indulged emotion of the Puritan.

Barton summoned us to a meeting, one night, and we held a long palaver over the situation.  We decided to become more cautious, in spite of a few hotheads who advised defiance to the hilt....

And the beautiful girl that possessed such fine breasts could no longer row about on our little lake, naked to the waist.  And we were requested to go far in among the trees for our nude sun-baths.

The more radical of us moved entirely into the woods, despite the sand flies....

Then the affair simmered down to quietness—­till the New York World and the New York Journal sent out their reporters....  After that, what with the lurid and insinuating stories printed, the state authorities began to look into the matter—­and found no harm in us.

But the Andersonville officials were out for blood.  Cottswold was growing too fast for their injured civic pride and vanity.

“Can’t you divide your mail between the two towns, and make them both third or fourth class or whatever-it-is postoffice towns?” I asked Barton, after he had given me the simple explanation of the whole affair.

“No—­for if I took anything away from Cottswold and added it to Andersonville, then the Cottswold authorities would become my adversaries, too ... the only thing I can do,” he added, “is what I meant to do all along,—­as soon as our ‘city’ has grown important enough—­have ‘Perfection City’ made a postoffice.”

“And then make enemies of both towns at once?”

He threw up his hands in despair and walked away.

* * * * *

Having quit work with the gang that was laying out the streets of the future city through the pines, I was entirely out of the few dollars my several weeks’ work had enabled me to save ... though but little was needed to exist by, in that community of simple livers ... my procuring my tent free had rendered me quite independent....

One afternoon Barton met me on the dam-head.

“Come on in swimming with me ...  I have something to talk with you about,” he said.

We swam around and talked, as nonchalantly as two other men would have done, sitting in their club.

“How would you like to work for me again?”

“What is it you want me to work at?”

“I need a cook for my nature restaurant ... can you cook?”

I thought.  I knew his present cook, MacGregor, the Scot, and I didn’t want to do him out of a job.  Besides, I didn’t know how to cook.