I had his salary.  He got a scoop last year, and you couldn’t speak to him for a month after.  Mrs. Foster,—­she’s one of the biggest guns, you know, a regular cannon,—­refurnished her house last summer, and all the New York papers wanted photographs.  She went cranky, and said they shouldn’t have them.  Wouldn’t even listen to Lancaster’s pleadings.  But he hadn’t jollied the butler for nothing.  She didn’t stop here last summer—­only came down every two weeks and rearranged every stick of the furniture.  The butler was nearly distracted.  It was as much as his place was worth to have her find any of the chairs out of place, and the rooms had to be swept.  So he hit on a plan.  He bought a camera and photographed the rooms every time Mrs. Foster came down.  One day he met Lancaster on the avenue and confided his method of keeping up with the old lady.  You may be sure Lancaster was not long getting a set of those photos.  It cost the newspaper a pot of money, for the butler was no fool.  But there they were next Sunday.  And Mrs. Foster doesn’t know to this day how it was done.”

Webb listened with mingled amusement and dismay.  He was slowly beginning to realize the determined segregation, from the common herd, of these people, to whom he had come so confidently to offer homage.  He changed the subject.

“I don’t want to stay here, don’t you know,” he said, glancing scornfully over his shoulder at the hotel which in its day had housed the most distinguished in the land.  “What would you advise?  Take a cottage?”

“Take a cottage!” Mr. Chapman fairly gasped.  “Are you a millionaire in disguise?  If you were, I don’t believe you could get one.  The swells shut up theirs when they don’t come, or let them to their friends.  The others are mostly taken year after year by the same people.  No; I’ll tell you what you want—­a bachelor’s apartment.  They are not so easy to get either, but I happen to know of one.  It was rented four years ago by Jack Delancy, but he blew in most of his money, and then tried to recuperate on cordage.  The bottom fell out of that, and now goodness knows where he is.  At all events, his apartment is to let.  Suppose we go now and see it.  There’s no time to lose.”

Andrew assented willingly, profoundly thankful that he had met Mr. Chapman.  The apartment was near the hotel.  They found it still vacant, furnished with a certain bold distinction.  The rent was high, but Andrew stifled the economic promptings of his nature, and manfully signed a check.  That night there was nothing to be seen in Newport, not even a moon.  The city was like a necropolis.  Andrew gratefully employed his leisure hunting for servants.  The following day he was comfortably installed and had invited the fortunate Mr. Chapman to dinner.  He found that gentleman next morning on the beach, taking snap-shots at the bathers.