When his butler had disappeared, Stafford turned to his guests with a smile: 

“Queer little chap, isn’t he?  He is very devoted, and I find him very useful.  You see, being a bachelor, I don’t keep house, but if I have a little party like this, I generally leave the selection of the dinner to Oku and have it served in there—­” He pointed to the dining-room, the folding doors of which the butler had closed.  With a good-natured laugh, he added:  “He has shut the doors so we can’t see the spread.  I hope the little beggar has something good.”

Jim, who, until now, had remained in the background, trying to summon up enough courage to take an aggressive part in the conversation, spoke up boldly: 

“Nice little place you have here, Mr. Stafford.”

There was an amused expression, which did not escape Virginia’s notice, hovering around the corners of the millionaire’s mouth, as he replied: 

“Glad you like it.  Have you seen the other rooms?”

“No,” replied the clerk carelessly, as he flecked the ashes from his cigar on to the fine Turkish rug.  “I’m judging by this one—­”

At that moment Oku re-entered the room, bearing in his hand a menu, which he handed to his master.  Stafford glanced over it and nodded approvingly, then, taking out a pencil, he made one correction.  This done, he handed it back.

“I think that will do nicely.  Have dinner served when ready.”

“Yes—­sir—­excuse, please.”

The butler was about to leave the room, when his master called him back.

“Oku—­just a moment.”  Turning apologetically to the others, he said: 

“Will you excuse me?” In an undertone to the butler, he said:  “I shan’t dress to-night—­”

Oku salaamed.

“Anything else, sir?”

“No—­you can go.”

“Then excuse—­please.  Excuse—­”

The butler disappeared and the host rejoined his guests.  Addressing the shipping clerk amiably, he said: 

“I’m glad you like this room, Mr. Gillie.”

There was no sarcasm in his voice, nor did he intend any.  The railroad promoter was in good humor that evening, and he wanted his guests to feel perfectly at home, but Jimmie, in his ignorant egotism thought that his host was really flattered by his praise.  Patronizingly, he said: 

“I do, for a fact.  I think it’s all right.”

Pointing to the library beyond, the millionaire said carelessly: 

“My best things are in that room.  But there are some here that are rather good, I think.  Did you notice this?” He picked up from a table a piece of carved ivory and held it so that all might see.  “It was carved by a Japanese master nearly eight hundred years ago.”

“Did he get much for it?” asked Jimmie, opening wide his eyes.

“Who,” smiled Stafford, “the carver?”

“Yes.”

“Probably a few cents a day.”

“A few cents a day?” gaped the clerk.