"Chapter 1; Monday; Sick at home; Jack Toffer sat in his chair and almost did something. He knew that he had boundless potential. It was not something that one could poke a stick at, but it certainly lived in his veins. Like a large pillow or mattress, it bolstered the flagging spirit on such rare occasions that the aforementioned source of gusto did flop. This, it must be observed was a very rare occurrence as our Mr. Toffer was of a vigorous and stalwart breed. However, he like the rest of us felt the need for the odd sick day, and (unwilling as he was) did capitulate to the inexorable forces of one's body. The particular offensive force in this instance, was none other than an inability to confront the extreme cold of the frosty morning airs. And indeed this particular morning, was subject to the capricious whims of the mercury, as a July is wont to bring."--P. 1.