Scobee was searching for something, something elusive, intangible. He was not quite certain what it could be. He wished his rugs to glow as jewels, to retain their fire endlessly as does the diamond. Perhaps he was searching for some divine fire to illumine his own life. He was rich, his holdings were large. Wealth was not a source of worry. Yet he was not happy. He was envious of the jewels that were on exhibition in the house in that Chinese garden. He had learned much, acquired a fortune, his warehouses were immense but the one defect of envy he could not banish from his cosmos. And although Scobee was inordinately interested in him and liked to pass long hours in his company, there was little of real worth that he could learn from
Loo Zoo.
