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 It was eaten on the beach, so as not to disturb other members who were sitting quietly on the porch. Even so there was some scandal caused in the club by the way Fourchette and the kittens snuggled all over Mr. Liverwurst as he sat on the sand. There were complaints made to the Membership Committee.

Mr. Liverwurst did not eat much lunch. So much of his life was spent among food that he was glad not to think about it for a while. The heat on the beach bothered him, for in his shop in Mineola, among ice-boxes and electric fans, it was always cool. Also three active cats climbing up his back and rubbing against his fragrant trousers made him feel hotter still. But Fourchette and the kittens ate enormously. Then Fourchette, growing a little ashamed of the way she had behaved, became very stern with Hops and Malta. They were soon in tears. They had to be consoled by the story of the Paper Bag Tree that is always told at picnics. It is a story about a family that always left a mess behind them after a picnic. They scattered bread crusts and bits of paper and banana skins and empty bottles in the woods. Then one morning they