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Updated: May 5, 2025
With a fiercely impatient gesture he brushed his hand across his forehead and picked up from a table a new appreciation of the life and campaigns of Napoleon Bonaparte. Yamuro slipped in with his cushioned tread and stood awaiting orders, and after a while the master whose attention refused to remain fixed even on Napoleon glanced up.
His will left you twenty thousand dollars but well, you know." Yamuro straightened up. He raised both hands in a gesture of protest and his words came fast and vehemently. "No, no! Thanks ver' mutch no no! You great artist you not un'stand making money. You need. Mother sister father all need. No please!" He halted; then in a deep embarrassment, went on. "Me got money in bank.
It had not occurred to him to warn his chief that that afternoon the basin had been emptied and repaired, and that below the diving-board were only six inches of water just enough to give back, in semi-darkness, a liquid reflection, and, beneath that, solid slabs of marble. Yamuro peered over the edge and a deep groan broke from him.
Yamuro went out into still another room for the accessories of his Japanese art of muscle-kneading, and Hamilton turned idly toward the darkened swimming pool. He strolled over to the edge of the marble basin and walked out on the spring-board. It was all very dark in here, but his feet were familiar with every foot of space.
"You may go, Yamuro," he said in a wearied voice, but the Japanese valet did not go. Instead he approached and his face grew anxious as he noted the confused and fatigued droop of his master's eyes and lips. "'Scuse, please," he hazarded as his white teeth flashed in an apologetic grin. "You tired. You go down gymnasium take ex'cise one half-hour.
Yamuro, his Japanese valet, slipped in to see if his master required him but his footfall was noiseless, and when he had tiptoed close enough to study the face, he departed without speaking. The lips in the yellow face parted in a grin that bared a spread of strong, white teeth.
The eyes between high cheekbones glistened in dark slits and in his throat, too low to be heard, a little grunt voiced Yamuro's fanatical admiration. Had Hamilton Burton been an emperor in the field Yamuro would have asked no greater privilege than to interpose his body between his idolized master and all danger. Such was the power of this wholly selfish but dominant personality.
"I might as well cap it with a plunge," he told himself, and, lifting his hands above his head, launched outward in a graceful arc. Yamuro came back a moment later and looked about the empty gymnasium. His face suddenly went pale. "Mr. Burton please!" he screamed, and in his excitement his voice was more than ordinarily sibilant. Then he turned on the pool light and rushed frantically back.
"My dear, egotistical boy!" Yamuro appeared in the door, bearing a telegram, and swiftly Hamilton Burton tore the envelope. "I am bringing in the pelt," were the highly informative words. "Hendricks accompanies me, Ruferton." The financier crumpled the slip in his hand and smiled. "It's fortunate," he murmured half-aloud, "very fortunate for Ruferton that he didn't fail." When Mr. Ruferton and Mr.
"'Scuse, please," came the apologetic reply. "Mr. Paul, she no here. When she come, Yamuro tell. Thanks." It was late when the financier left his car at his own door and demanded of Harrow, "Where is my brother?" "In the music-room, I think, sir."
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