-Excuse me, sirs, - I feebly croaked out, -but Mr. Milo Overlock begs to detain you this afternoon, the purpose being this rather inconvenient death...- So says Grave, elderly and ever-hapless valet to that -icon of ego, demigod of duck and prefect of perfect, - Milo Overlock, as another dreaded adventure unfolds before him. It is not enough that Grave, at seventy-five, must prepare six duck dinners a day or entertain his Master's ruthless pet mice, but to be embroiled in one Endeavor after another in which rich, powerful Mr. Overlock (all five-foot-ought and twenty stone of him) exercises an...