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It was ten o'clock when Richard Treadwell in gown and slippers, sat down in a high-backed chair to partake of a light breakfast.

The dainty table was spread with its burden of light rolls and yellow butter, with a bit of ice on it, and crisp, red berries. The odor of the coffee was very appetizing, but Richard ate and read the morning paper at the same time.

The awnings lowered over the windows shut out the glare of the morning sun. A light breeze moved the curtains lazily, and a green palm on the window-sill waved its long arms energetically, as if to hurry the indolent young man who was missing the beauty of Summer's early morning.