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Scobell's solicitors, who had instructions to sell the journal, if, as its owner crisply put it, they could find any chump who was enough of a darned chump to give real money for it. Up to the present the great army of chumps had fallen short of this ideal standard of darned chumphood. Ever since this parting of the ways, Mr. Renshaw had been in his element.
Certainly, a man with money to lose could lose it here under the most charming conditions. It had been Mr. Scobell's object to avoid the cheerless grandeur of the rival institution down the coast. Instead of one large hall sprinkled with tables, each table had a room to itself, separated from its neighbor by sound-proof folding-doors. And as the building progressed, Mr.
"My name is Maude," he said. "Won't you sit down? Have you had dinner?" "Thank you, yes," said the spectacled young man. "You'll have a cigar and coffee, then?" "Thank you, yes." The young man remained silent until the waiter had filled his cup. "My name is Crump," he said. "I am Mr. Benjamin Scobell's private secretary." "Yes?" said John. "Snug job?"
Scobell took a pride in the versatility of his finance. It distinguished him from the uninspired who were content to concentrate themselves on steel, wheat and such-like things. It was Mr. Scobell's way to consider nothing as lying outside his sphere. In a financial sense he might have taken Terence's Nihil humanum alienum as his motto.
"And it seemed to me that I couldn't do better than put it into Peaceful Moments. If it did nothing else, it would give me a free hand in pursuing a policy in which I was interested. Smith told me that Mr. Scobell's representatives had instructions to accept any offer, so I made an offer, and they jumped at it." Pugsy Maloney entered, bearing a card.
He dared not face the picture of himself as he must have appeared in those eyes, the man whom Mr. Benjamin Scobell's Casino was paying to marry her, the hired man earning his wages by speaking words of love. A feeling of physical sickness came over him. He held to the table for support as he had held to the sandstone rock.
To Betty everything was new and strange. Her previous acquaintance with the metropolis had not been extensive. Mr. Scobell's home or, rather, the house which he owned in America was on the outskirts of Philadelphia, and it was there that she had lived when she was not paying visits.
The young man patted him on his shoulder. "I appoint you, Desmond Ryan," he said, "Grand Hereditary Bell Hop to the Court of Mervo." Thus did Prince John formally enter into his kingdom. Owing to collaboration between Fate and Mr. Scobell, John's state entry into Mervo was an interesting blend between a pageant and a vaudeville sketch. The pageant idea was Mr. Scobell's.
Moore, and my cozen Roger, which vexes me, but I must impute it to his age and care for my mother and Pall and so let it go. After little discourse with him I took coach and home, calling upon my bookseller's for two books, Rushworth's and Scobell's Collections. I shall make the King pay for them. The first I spent some time at the office to read and it is an excellent book.
Scobell's secretary broke up unexpectedly into a slow, wide smile. His eyes behind their glasses gleamed with a wistful light. "Gee!" he murmured. John looked at him, amazed. "Crump," he cried. "Crump, I believe you're a sport!" Mr. Crump seemed completely to have forgotten his responsible position as secretary to a millionaire and special messenger to a prince. He smirked.
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