"Master Frederick!" exclaimed the man.
"See that the cabbie—hic—is paid," was the other's response; and he linked his arm in Jurgis's. Jurgis was about to say, "I have the money for him," but he restrained himself. The stout man in uniform signalled to the other, who went out to the cab, while he followed Jurgis and his young master.
They went down the great hall, and then turned. Before them were two huge doors.
"Hamilton," said Master Freddie.
"Well, sir?" said the other.
"Whuzzamatter wizze dinin'-room doors?"
"Nothing is the matter, sir."
"Then why dontcha openum?"
The man rolled them back; another vista lost itself in the darkness. "Lights," commanded Master Freddie; and the butler pressed a button, and a flood of brilliant incandescence streamed from above, half blinding Jurgis. He stared; and little by little he made out the great apartment, with a domed ceiling from which the light poured, and walls that were one enormous painting—nymphs and dryads dancing in a flower-strewn glade—Diana with her hounds and horses, dashing headlong through a mountain streamlet—a group of maidens bathing in a forest-pool—all life-size, and so real that Jurgis thought that it was some work of enchantment, that he was in a dream-palace. Then his eye passed to the long table in the centre of the hall, a table black as ebony, and gleaming with wrought silver and gold. In the centre of it was a huge carven bowl, with the glistening gleam of ferns and the red and purple of rare orchids, glowing from a light hidden somewhere in their midst.
"This's the dinin'-room," observed Master Freddie. "How you like it, hey, ole sport?"
He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning over Jurgis and smiling into his face. Jurgis liked it.
"Rummy ole place to feed in all 'lone, though," was Freddie's comment—"rummy's hell! Whuzya think,
