Almost immediately a benign animal magnetism pervaded the bosom of Payson Clifford, and from his bosom reached out through his arteries and veins, his arterioles and venioles, to the uttermost ends of his being.  He perceived in an instant that Mr. Tutt was no ordinary man and his house no ordinary house; and this impression was intensified when, seated at his host’s shining mahogany table with its heavy cut glass and queer old silver, he discovered that Miranda was no ordinary cook.  He began to be inflated over having discovered this Mr. Tutt, who pressed succulent oysters and terrapin stew upon him, accompanied by a foaming bottle of Krug ’98.  He found himself possessed of an astounding appetite and a prodigious thirst.  The gas lights in the old bronze chandelier shone like a galaxy of radiant suns above his head and warmed him through and through.  And after the terrapin Miranda brought in a smoking wild turkey with two quail roasted inside of it, and served with currant jelly, rice cakes, and sweet potatoes fried in melted sugar.  Then, as in a dream, he heard a soul-satisfying pop and Miranda placed a tall, amber glass at his wrist and filled it with the creaming redrose wine of ancient Burgundy.  He heard himself telling Mr. Tutt all about himself,—­the most intimate secrets of his heart,—­and saw Mr. Tutt listening attentively, almost reverently.  He perceived that he was making an astonishing impression upon Mr. Tutt who obviously thought him a great man; and after keeping him in reasonable doubt about it for awhile he modestly admitted to Mr. Tutt that this was so.  Then he drank several more glasses of Burgundy and ate an enormous pile of waffles covered with maple syrup.  “I’se in town, honey!” Mr. Tutt had grown several sizes larger—­the whole room was full of him.  Lastly he had black coffee and some port.  It was an occasion, he asserted,—­er—­always goo’ weather,—­or somethin’—­when goo’ fellows got together!  He declared with an emphasis which was quite unnecessary, but which, however, did not disturb him, that there were too few men like themselves in the world,—­men with the advantage of education,—­men of ideals.  He told Mr. Tutt that he loved him.  He no longer had a father, and, evidently relying on further similar entertainments, he wanted Mr. Tutt for one.  Mr. Tutt generously assented to act in that capacity and as the first step assisted his guest upstairs to the library where he opened the window a few inches.

Presently, Payson did not know how exactly, they got talking all about life,—­and Mr. Tutt said ruminatively that after all the only things that really counted were loyalty and courage and kindness,—­and that a little human sympathy extended even in what sometimes seemed at first glance the wrong direction often did more good—­made more for real happiness—­than the most efficient organized charity.  He spoke of the loneliness of age—­the inevitable loneliness of the human soul,—­the thirst for daily affection.  And then they drifted off to college, and Mr. Tutt inquired casually if Payson had seen much of his father, who, he took occasion to remark, had been a good type of straightforward, honest, hard-working business man.