so much that I summoned Memnon to shut the
glass off. I was really afraid somebody else might see. And I did not
wish to lose my respect for people who were leaders in the highest
walks of social life. Still, a great many things that have happened
since in high life have not been wholly surprising to me. I have
furthermore so ordered my own goings and comings since that time that
I have no fear of what the Peeping Toms of Olympus may see. If mankind
could only be made to understand that this window of Olympus opens out
upon every act of their lives, there might be radical reforms in some
quarters where it would do a deal of good, although to the general
public there seems to be no need for it.

At this point a waiter put a small wafer about as large as a penny
upon the table.

"H'm--what's that, Memnon?" I asked.

"Essence of melon," said he.

"Good, is it?" I queried.

"You might taste it and see, sir," he said, with a smile. "It is one
of a lot especially prepared for Jupiter."

I put the thing in my mouth, and oh, the sensation that followed! I
have eaten melons, and I have dreamed melons, but never in either
experience was there to be found such an ecstasy of taste as I now
got.

"Another, Memnon--another!" I cried.

"If you wish, sir," said he. "But very imprudent, sir. That wafer was
constructed from six hundred of the choicest--"

"Quite right," said I, realizing the situation; "quite right. Six
hundred melons _are_ enough for any man. What do you propose to give
me now?"

"_Oeufs Midas_," said Memnon.

"Sounds rather rich," I observed.

"It would cost you 4,650,000 francs for a half portion at a Paris
cafe, if you could get it there--which you can't."

"And what, Memnon," said I, "is the peculiarity of eggs _Midas_?"

"It's nothing but an omelet, sir," he replied; "but it is made of eggs
laid by the goose of whom you have probably read in the _Personal
Recollections of Jack the Giant-Killer_. They are solid gold."

"Heavens!" I cried. "Solid gold! Great Scott, Memnon, I can't digest a
solid gold omelet. What do you think I am--an assay office?"

Memnon grinned until every tooth in his head showed, making his mouth
look like the keyboard of a grand piano.

"It is perfectly harmless the way it is prepared in the kitchen, sir,"
he explained. "It isn't an eighteen-karat omelet, as you seem to
think. The eggs are solid, but the omelet is not. It is, indeed, only
six karats fine. The alloy consi