No.--Riverside Drive, an imposing apartment house of Spanish style of
architecture, situated in the most select and attractive section of
that aristocratic thoroughfare, was justly renowned in the
neighborhood for the size and magnificence of its suites and the ultra
_chic_ quality of its exclusive, wealthy patrons. No one ever
heard of rooms being vacant; people had been on the waiting list for
years and they were still waiting. Tenants never dreamed of leaving,
once they had been fortunate enough to secure a lease. It would be
surprising if they did, for in all New York there were no apartments
more desirable and comfortable.
Mr. Robert Stafford lived on the eighth floor, his rooms facing the
Hudson and commanding a superb view of the stately river below, which,
broad and turbulent, rushed by on its way to the sea, its surface
dotted with all kinds of steam and sailing craft. To the north, away
past Grant's Tomb, were the highlands of New Jersey and the
precipitous cliffs of the historic Palisades, which, as far as the eye
could reach, stretched away in a mist of purplish haze.
The decorations and appointments of the apartment would have brought
joy into the gloomy heart of the most blasé connoisseur. Entering a
spacious foyer with a lofty, elaborately decorated ceiling and walls
of white marble hung all round with tapestries, trophies and oil
paintings, the visitor passed through a number of wide halls, treading
on thick Oriental rugs until he reached the salon, a magnificent room
decorated in blue and gold with heavy gilt furniture to match, which,
in turn, opened on to the dining room, both looking on the Avenue and
commanding a fine view of the river. At the far end of the salon was a
large fireplace with a splendid mantel of beautifully carved marble, a
rare piece of decorative art from the north of Italy. The dining room,
panelled with rare woods, and hung with red, with panelled ceiling,
was separated from the salon by a folding door. The walls of both
rooms were covered with paintings, water colors and engravings, while
all about was a picturesque confusion of _objets d'art_ of every
description--Japanese ivories, rare porcelains, old English china,
Indian bronzes, antique watches, snuff boxes and bonbonnières,
curiously wrought brass and iron work, Peach Blow vases, Mexican
pottery, Satsuma ware, richly mounted weapons of the middle ages,
Japanese armor, long daggers from Toledo, delicate lattice work from
Venice, Florentine carvings, valuable Gobelins tapestries from Paris,
etc., etc.--a collection such as an Oriental potentate might envy.
The fame of the Stafford 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 _boutonnières_ 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:
"Is that you, Oku?"
"Yes--Sir--Excuse--please--Sir!"
"Oku," came Stafford's voice, "I've been held downtown at my club. I'm
just starting for home. If Miss Blaine and her friends come, make them
comfortable until I arrive. Understand?"
"Yes--Sir--Excuse--please--Sir!"
The speaker rang off and Oku, more nervous and excited than ever now
that he was called upon to act as host as well as caterer, danced
about the apartment like a man possessed. Seven o'clock struck and
the echoes of the last stroke had barely died away when there came a
discreet ring at the front door bell. Quickly Oku pulled himself
together and summoning up his most dignified manner, threw the door
wide open. On the threshold stood Mr. James Gillie, accompanied by
Virginia and Fanny.
"Is this Mr. Stafford's apartment?" inquired Jimmie in his grandest
manner.
"Yes, sir," said Oku with a deep salaam. "Excuse, please, and come in!
Excuse, please!"
None of the visitors were in evening dress. The girls wore shirt
waists and Jimmie's chief claims to distinction were a clean shave and
freshly-pressed pants. At the last moment Virginia had wished not to
come at all for this reason. She had no evening frock and could not
afford to get one for a single occasion, and Fanny was in the same
straits. There had been a long argument over the matter and not a few
tears, until finally Fanny made it impossible for Virginia to hold out
any longer by declaring flatly that her whole future--hers and
Jimmies--was at stake. So Virginia surrendered with as good grace as
she could pretend--hoping inwardly that Mr. Stafford looked upon it
only as an informal affair and would be neither dressed himself nor
expect them to be.
Jimmie handed his coat and hat to the butler with as important an air
as he was able to assume, and, speaking for the ladies, who until now
had stood motionless in the background, said loftily:
"Tell Mr. Stafford the people he was expecting have come."
Oku salaamed profoundly, but did not budge.
"Excuse! But Mr. Stafford--he is not here," he said.
Jimmie looked blankly at the girls. With a grin at Virginia he
snickered:
"I told you being late was the proper thing."
Virginia turned to the butler. Anxiously she said:
"Isn't there some mistake?"
Oku shook his head, and throwing open the door of the salon, motioned
to them to enter.
"Excuse, please, but there is no mistake," he grinned. "Mr. Stafford
he say to me over telephone he is very sorry, but there is big meeting
and he not get away. He be here in half an hour."
The girls looked at each other in dismay. Jimmie made a grimace.
"Half an hour! Jumping Jupiter!" he exclaimed.
"He say he is very sorry," went on Oku apologetically, "but will hurry
quick as can. He say for you to wait till he come and he tell me to
say many time, 'Excuse, please! Excuse!'"
Virginia smiled. With quiet dignity she said:
"Very well--we understand--we will wait."
Oku put out his hand for their hats and coats.
"Give me hats, please--excuse, please."
While the girls divested themselves of their outer garments the little
butler chatted on in his quaint pigeon English:
"Mr. Stafford--he say to ask if you will have cocktail."
Jimmie had carelessly strolled over to a table and picked up a book.
On hearing the invitation to liquid refreshments he closed the volume
with a bang and turned round like a flash:
"I will," he exclaimed quickly.
A ludicrous expression of renewed interest suddenly replaced the
shipping clerk's rather disgusted expression. Anything was welcome
which promised to relieve the monotony of this society stunt, as he
had termed Mr. Stafford's invitation. It was against his will that he
had come at all. Why should he do this millionaire the honor of dining
with him? What was he to him? Because he was rich? Well, he guessed
not. If he had consented at Fanny's urgent pleadings, it was because
his fiancée had told him it would help Virginia. Mr. Stafford, Fanny
said, was simply crazy about her and might propose to her any day.
After all, it could do no harm to have a millionaire in the family.
Besides, he was a big railroad man. He might help him to do something
with his "no stop" idea. But he must be on his guard and not allow
sentiment to interfere with business. This Stafford must not think
that because he invited him to dinner and might one day become his
brother-in-law that he was going to get the "no-stop" invention cheap.
No, siree--no one should get the best of him!
Oku had approached Virginia, who, having crossed the room, was gazing
through the casement windows at the splendid view. Salaaming low, he
said:
"Miss--will take cocktail?"
"No--thank you," she answered with a smile.
The butler turned to Fanny, who looked significantly at Jimmie as if
desirous of consulting his wishes in so important a matter.
"Sure!" he said in an aside not intended to reach the butler's ears.
But Oku was nothing if not discreet. He never allowed himself to hear
anything. When Fanny nodded he merely inquired politely:
"What kind--please?"
Jimmie grinned and licked his lips. Turning to his future wife he
asked:
"What do you like?"
"What kind do you?" she laughed, anxious to keep him in good humor.
"Martini suits me all right."
Oku bowed to the ground.
"Yes, miss. Two Martini cocktails. Excuse, please! Excuse!"
With another profound salaam and retreating backwards towards the door
as if in the presence of royalty, the Japanese butler made an
impressive exit.
Jimmie had watched Oku's every movement with the greatest amusement.
When he was out of earshot he remarked with a chuckle:
"Great little chink, that!"
Fanny laughed. Teasingly she said:
"He's not a Chinaman, Jim. Don't you know a Japanese when you see
one?"
"They all look alike to me," he grinned.
Profiting by the butler's absence, the shipping clerk started on a
tour of critical inspection of the salon. Looking around, he exclaimed
with enthusiasm:
"Say--this is some room, eh?"
Virginia had left the window and was admiring some water-colors on the
walls. Overhearing the exclamation, she looked up, her glance taking
in the whole room.
"Yes--it is beautiful," she said ecstatically.
Fanny, who had been diligently rubbing the back of her magnificent
gilt chair to see if it was real gold leaf, broke in:
"While this place was being built I read in the paper that Mr.
Stafford was to pay $15,000 a year for his rooms."
Jimmie opened wide his eyes in amazement.
"Fifteen thousand a year--just for his rooms!" he exclaimed
incredulously.
He looked at Virginia as if expecting her to confirm the statement.
"Yes," insisted Fanny, "$15,000 a year."
The shipping clerk gave a low whistle.
"Why, that's nearly $300 a week!" he cried.
Fanny gave an affirmative nod, and her fiancé, putting on an injured
air as if Mr. Stafford's expenses had to come out of his own pocket,
went on:
"Three hundred dollars--just for his rooms, while I slave a whole
week, from eight in the morning till six at night for a measly
fourteen." With a disgusted shrug of his shoulders he added: "I tell
you there's something rotten in this country."
Virginia looked around apprehensively. She was afraid the butler might
have heard the ejaculation, which, considering he was Mr. Stafford's
guest, was certainly inexecrable taste. Not that she was surprised. By
this time she had learned not to look to her prospective
brother-in-law for Chesterfieldian manners. Quickly she said:
"Mr. Stafford didn't get more than fourteen when he was your age. He
was poor, too."
"Yes," chimed in Fanny with a toss of her head, "and when they raised
you from twelve at Christmas you thought you were doing great. I
remember how chesty you were about it."
Jimmie grinned. In tones meant to be tender he replied:
"Only because I figured that I might be gettin' eighteen pretty soon
and then we could get married." Eying her sheepishly, he went on: "Do
we still have to wait till I get eighteen, Fanny?"
"We certainly do," she retorted promptly. "A couple simply can't live
on less than eighteen."
The shipping clerk thrust his hands in his pockets and began to stride
up and down the room. Peevishly he exclaimed:
"I know it. That's what makes me so sore when I read about
millionaires like Stafford having luxurious private yachts, giving
fifty thousand for a picture and things like that. They have so much
money they don't know what to do with it, and yet all that stands
between me and happiness is four dollars a week _and I can't get
it_."
Virginia, who was sitting on the sofa, having become interested in a
cabinet full of curios close by, looked up with a smile. Encouragingly
she said:
"Don't worry, Jimmie, your chance will come just as Mr. Stafford's
did."
"Fine chance I've got," he growled; "third assistant shipping clerk in
a wholesale grocery. Why, the manager of the department only gets
thirty and he's been with the house twenty-six years."
"That's a sweet outlook for me, I must say," cried Fanny in dismay.
"If it takes a man twenty-six years to work up to thirty, I suppose
you'll be getting eighteen eleven years from the third of next
January."
Jimmie looked closely at both girls. He was not quite sure if they
were making fun of him. Apparently satisfied that, on the contrary,
they were in full sympathy with his troubles, he said:
"I'm doing my best and no fellow can do more! That's what makes me so
sore, I tell you. Here I am slaving away for fourteen a week and he
spends three hundred just for his rooms. I wonder how many rooms he
gets for that?"
"I think it's twelve and four baths," said Fanny.
"Four baths!" he gasped. "What in God's name can a bachelor do with
four baths?"
"Is there any reason he shouldn't have them if he can pay for them?"
demanded Fanny quietly.
"But what good are they to him," insisted her fiancé. "No matter how
much money he has, he can't be in more than one tub at a time. I
suppose he uses 'em Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,
Saturday--and keeps the favorite for the special splash on Sunday."
Virginia looked at him scornfully.
"Do you realize," she exclaimed, "that Mr. Stafford has servants and
that he has friends come to stay with him occasionally?"
Abashed, the young man put his hands in his pockets and began to
whistle. He stood in considerable awe of Virginia.
"Oh, I hadn't thought o' that," he said mildly.
Flushing with vexation at his making such remarks, Fanny said to him
in a quick undertone:
"Take my advice and do think--once in a while. And get rid of that
temper, too. For the first time in our lives we're invited to dine
with a rich man and I, for one, want to enjoy it."
Jimmie opened his mouth as if to make some retort, when suddenly Oku
re-appeared carrying a tray in which was a tempting spread of
cocktails, cigarettes and cigars.