im in
quite so gay a humor. His eyes sparkled; happiness rippled in his voice.
His tone was more companionable too, lacking that faint but unmistakable
air of patronage it had always previously held. He had never forgotten,
until now, that he was the employer, I the employee. Now his accent and
manner was one of equality, and he addressed me much as he had addressed
his wealthy guests.

He had been drinking; but he was not in the least intoxicated. Perhaps
he had been stimulated, very slightly. He wore a dinner coat with white
trousers.

"Killdare, I want you to come downstairs," he said. "Some of my friends
want to talk to you about shootin' and fishin'. They're keen to know
what their prospects are."

"I'd like to," I answered. "But I'll have to come as I am. I haven't a
dinner coat----"

"Of course come as you are."

His arm touched mine, and he headed me down the hallway to the stairs.
Then we walked side by side down the big, wide stairway to the big
living-room.

Already I heard the sound of the guests' laughter. As I went further the
hall seemed simply ringing with it. There could be no further doubt of
the success of Nealman's party. Evidently his distinguished guests had
thrown all dignity to the winds, entering full into the spirit of play.

The glimpse of the big living-room only verified this first impression.
The guests were evidently in that wonderful mood of merriment that is
the delight and ambition of all hosts, but which is so rarely obtained.
Most men know the doubtful temper of a mob. Few had failed to observe
that the same psychology extends to the simplest social gatherings. How
often stiffness and formality haunt the drawing-room or dining-table,
where only merriment should rule! How many times the social spirit
wholly fails to manifest itself. To-night, evidently, conditions were
just right, and hilarity ruled at Kastle Krags.

As I came in Joe Nopp--the portly man with the clear, gray eyes--was
telling some sort of an anecdote, and his listeners were simply shouting
with laughter. Major Dell and Bill Van Hope were shooting craps on the
floor, ten cents a throw, carrying on a ridiculous conversation with the
dice. A big phonograph was shouting a negro song from the corner.

There was a slight lull, however, when Nealman and I came in. Van Hope
spoke to me first--he was the only one of the guests I had met--and the
others turned toward me with the good manners of their kind. In a moment