These things he was meditating while with the assistance of his valet he
was donning a dress-suit; afterward he descended and entered his
automobile, and in half an hour they reached the dock. It was then
nearing sundown, and the rain was gone, and the river was golden. Van
Rensselaer drank in the fresh sea breeze as he alighted, and moved
toward the waiting _Comet_. Steam was pouring out from the funnels of
the yacht, and the captain stood at the gang-plank.
"All ready, sir," he said.
"Every one on board?" inquired the owner.
"Half an hour ago, sir."
"Very well. Cast off."
And then, amid the shouting of orders, Mr. Robert van Rensselaer moved
forward to the stern, where a dozen ladies and gentlemen were seated,
wrapped warmly in coats and shawls, and enjoying the beautiful scene.
They greeted him with laughter and merry welcome; they had cause to be
a happy party, for in America there was no host like Robert van
Rensselaer.
And his guests were worthy of him. Here was the peerless Mrs.
Dyemandust, mistress of seventy-two millions, and of all society; here
was Mrs. Miner-Gold, worth fifty-seven and a half in her own name; here
was Victor de Vere, leader in the smart set and wittiest man in town;
here was Pidgin of the great Steal Trust, and Mergem, owner of forty-two
railroads. Here was Miss Paragon, the _debutante_, about whom the town
was mad, and here was his Grace the Duc de Petitebourse, the
distinguished French visitor, who cried out that Miss Paragon was
"_ravissante--un miracle!_" It is boldness merely to name such company
in a novel.
"And oh, by the way," asks Mrs. Dyemandust, suddenly, "how did you
settle the strike?"
"Strike?" echoes Mr. Robert van Rensselaer (he had forgotten it
completely), "there are no strikes on the _Comet_."