And all the while the brazen honesty blazed ostentatiously from his flat, round face. I have never seen such honesty, or so much of it; it seemed at times positively indecent to make such a parade of a moral quality, harmless though it was. I felt that he ought to have worn a beard, and hidden some of it.
So we came, or rather Honest John Driver brought us, through dinner. I was saved from boredom by the thought that his waggishness was all in the day's work and far more bearable than the half-crown Franco-Italian dinner of Albert Amsted Pudleigh. Chelubai, inured to business men by his early training, never flinched. Angel, poor child, looked often bewildered and oftener disgusted; then with an effort she would recover herself and appear amiable and serene.
When we had finished dinner, and chosen each our liqueur, Chelubai turned to Driver and said: "I've ordered Java coffee, but perhaps it is too bitter for you, and you would prefer the ordinary?"
"No, no," said Driver. "I follow your lead. I know when I'm being done well by an expert."
Chelubai ordered coffee, and began a story of a San Franciscan operation in real estate to which the King of Finance listened with all his ears. Angel put both elbows on the table. In the middle of the story the coffee, liqueurs and cigars
