collection had gone far and wide, and the railroad promoter had been criticized more than once because he did not open his house more frequently for society’s enjoyment.  Ambitious mothers saw in the wealthy bachelor a great catch for their daughters, but it was in vain that they baited their matrimonial nets.  Stafford declined all invitations and lived himself the life of a hermit.  He was very seldom at home, the blinds were nearly always drawn, and the place looked deserted.  The only sign of life was an occasional glimpse of faithful Oku, the Japanese butler, who, with downcast eyes and stealthy tread, sometimes made a sortie in search of food or other household necessity.

A pure-blooded subject of the Mikado, Oku had come to America years ago to make his fortunes; but, falling into the hands of the Philistines directly he landed, found himself stranded in San Francisco.  Stafford had run across him there, took a fancy to him and attached him to his person as a body servant.  He had never regretted it.  Oku was one of those ideal retainers who, once they have found an attachment, would rather die than betray their trust.  His command of the vernacular was only limited, but he was the very soul of courtesy and politeness, and when not otherwise able to make himself understood, would content himself by a number of low salaams, accompanied by most apologetic exclamations of:  “Excuse, please—­excuse, please,” which original form of salutation, together with his Far-Eastern air, was well in harmony with the oriental, exotic surroundings of the place.

But this evening things were astir in the Stafford abode.  Lights were burning recklessly in every room and Oku had been running excitedly about since early dawn.  Had not his lord and master told him that visitors were coming and to prepare dinner for five?  Ah, now Oku was indeed in his element!  Instantly spurred to action, he had run here and there, in and out of the shops, in search of the most toothsome dainties.  He had bought the choicest meats, the finest birds, big mushrooms just picked, asparagus such as might make a king’s mouth water.  Then there was the wine.  The champagne must go on ice early.  His master liked it very cold—­almost frozen.  Then there were the cocktails to get ready, and the cigars and the floral decorations, with bouquets for the ladies and boutonnieres for the men.  Altogether, Oku had a busy day.

But he was repaid when at half past six that evening he stood in the salon and cast a last glance over the banquet table to make sure that nothing had been forgotten.  Viewed through the folding doors and literally groaning under the load of handsome silver, fine crystal, snowy linen, and cut flowers, the table presented a picture calculated to fill the heart of any host with pride.

Oku glanced anxiously at the clock.  He devoutly prayed that his dear master would soon come.  It was a terrible responsibility for him to bear alone.  Another half hour and the company would arrive, and his master had still to dress!  The minutes sped by and no sign of Mr. Stafford.  Where could he be?  The butler was beginning to worry in earnest when the telephone bell suddenly rang.  The butler feverishly picked up the receiver just in time to hear his master say: