of the best, if he was in
tarpaulins--and I didn't get over it for a week. No kotow about him, I
tell you. I wanted a newspaper the worst way, and was the first man to
strike the Sandy Hook pilot as he threw his sea-drenched leg over the
rail. 'Got a morning paper?' I asked. 'Yes, in my bag.' And he dumped
the contents on the deck and handed me a paper. I had been away from
home a year, mostly in England, and hadn't seen anybody, from a curator
in a museum to the manager of an estate, who wouldn't take a shilling
when it was offered him, and so from sheer force of habit I dropped a
trade dollar into his hand. You ought to have seen his face. 'What's
this for?' he asked. 'No use to me.' And he handed it back. I wanted to
go out and kick myself full of holes, I was so ashamed. And, after all,
it wasn't my fault. I learned that from you Englishmen."

The toot-toot of an automobile cut short the discussion.

The American millionaire had arrived!

Everybody now started on the run: landlord, two maids in blue dresses
with white cap strings flying, three hostlers, two garage men, four
dogs, all bowing and scraping--all except the dogs.

"What did I tell you?" laughed Mac, tapping the curate's broad chest
with the end of his plump finger. "That's the way you all do.
With us a porter would help him out, a hotel clerk assign him a room,
and that would end it. The next morning the only man to do him reverence
would be the waiter behind his chair figuring for the extra tip. Look at
them. Same old kotow. No wonder he thinks himself a duke."

The party had disembarked now and were nearing the door of the private
entrance, the two women in Mother Hubbard veils, the two men in
steamer-caps and goggles--the valet and maid carrying the coats and
parasols. The larger of the two men shed his goggles, changed his
steamer-cap for a slouch hat which his valet handed him, and disappeared
inside, followed by the landlord. The smaller man, his hands and arms
laden with shawls and wraps, gesticulated for an instant as if giving
orders to the two chauffeurs, waited until both machines had backed
away, and entered the open door.

"Who do you think the big man is, Mac?" Lonnegan asked.

"Don't know, and don't want to know."

"Lambert."

"What! Saw Logs?"

"The same, and--yes--by Jove! That little fellow with the wraps is
Tommy."

A moment later Tommy reappeared and made straight for the barmaid.

"Get me some crushed ice and vermouth