The place where he stood was dimly lighted; but he could see a vast hall, with pillars fading into the darkness above, and a great staircase opening at the far end of it.  The floor was of tesselated marble, smooth as glass, and from the walls strange shapes loomed out, woven into huge portieres in rich, harmonious colors, or gleaming from paintings, wonderful and mysterious-looking in the half-light, purple and red and golden, like sunset glimmers in a shadowy forest.

The man in livery had moved silently toward them; Master Freddie took off his hat and handed it to him, and then, letting go of Jurgis’ arm, tried to get out of his overcoat.  After two or three attempts he accomplished this, with the lackey’s help, and meantime a second man had approached, a tall and portly personage, solemn as an executioner.  He bore straight down upon Jurgis, who shrank away nervously; he seized him by the arm without a word, and started toward the door with him.  Then suddenly came Master Freddie’s voice, “Hamilton!  My fren’ will remain wiz me.”

The man paused and half released Jurgis.  “Come ’long ole chappie,” said the other, and Jurgis started toward him.

“Master Frederick!” exclaimed the man.

“See that the cabbie—­hic—­is paid,” was the other’s response; and he linked his arm in Jurgis’.  Jurgis was about to say, “I have the money for him,” but he restrained himself.  The stout man in uniform signaled to the other, who went out to the cab, while he followed Jurgis and his young master.

They went down the great hall, and then turned.  Before them were two huge doors.

“Hamilton,” said Master Freddie.

“Well, sir?” said the other.

“Whuzzamatter wizze dinin’-room doors?”

“Nothing is the matter, sir.”

“Then why dontcha openum?”

The man rolled them back; another vista lost itself in the darkness.  “Lights,” commanded Master Freddie; and the butler pressed a button, and a flood of brilliant incandescence streamed from above, half-blinding Jurgis.  He stared; and little by little he made out the great apartment, with a domed ceiling from which the light poured, and walls that were one enormous painting—­nymphs and dryads dancing in a flower-strewn glade—­Diana with her hounds and horses, dashing headlong through a mountain streamlet—­a group of maidens bathing in a forest pool—­all life-size, and so real that Jurgis thought that it was some work of enchantment, that he was in a dream palace.  Then his eye passed to the long table in the center of the hall, a table black as ebony, and gleaming with wrought silver and gold.  In the center of it was a huge carven bowl, with the glistening gleam of ferns and the red and purple of rare orchids, glowing from a light hidden somewhere in their midst.

“This’s the dinin’ room,” observed Master Freddie.  “How you like it, hey, ole sport?”

He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning over Jurgis and smiling into his face.  Jurgis liked it.