f.a.n.n.y, who had been diligently rubbing the back of her magnificent gilt chair to see if it was real gold leaf, broke in:

"While this place was being built I read in the paper that Mr.

Stafford was to pay $15,000 a year for his rooms."

Jimmie opened wide his eyes in amazement.

"Fifteen thousand a year--just for his rooms!" he exclaimed incredulously.

He looked at Virginia as if expecting her to confirm the statement.

"Yes," insisted f.a.n.n.y, "$15,000 a year."

The shipping clerk gave a low whistle.

"Why, that's nearly $300 a week!" he cried.

f.a.n.n.y gave an affirmative nod, and her fiance, putting on an injured air as if Mr. Stafford's expenses had to come out of his own pocket, went on:

"Three hundred dollars--just for his rooms, while I slave a whole week, from eight in the morning till six at night for a measly fourteen." With a disgusted shrug of his shoulders he added: "I tell you there's something rotten in this country."

Virginia looked around apprehensively. She was afraid the butler might have heard the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, which, considering he was Mr. Stafford's guest, was certainly inexecrable taste. Not that she was surprised. By this time she had learned not to look to her prospective brother-in-law for Chesterfieldian manners. Quickly she said:

"Mr. Stafford didn't get more than fourteen when he was your age. He was poor, too."

"Yes," chimed in f.a.n.n.y with a toss of her head, "and when they raised you from twelve at Christmas you thought you were doing great. I remember how chesty you were about it."

Jimmie grinned. In tones meant to be tender he replied:

"Only because I figured that I might be gettin' eighteen pretty soon and then we could get married." Eying her sheepishly, he went on: "Do we still have to wait till I get eighteen, f.a.n.n.y?"

"We certainly do," she retorted promptly. "A couple simply can't live on less than eighteen."

The shipping clerk thrust his hands in his pockets and began to stride up and down the room. Peevishly he exclaimed:

"I know it. That's what makes me so sore when I read about millionaires like Stafford having luxurious private yachts, giving fifty thousand for a picture and things like that. They have so much money they don't know what to do with it, and yet all that stands between me and happiness is four dollars a week _and I can't get it_."

Virginia, who was sitting on the sofa, having become interested in a cabinet full of curios close by, looked up with a smile. Encouragingly she said:

"Don't worry, Jimmie, your chance will come just as Mr. Stafford's did."

"Fine chance I've got," he growled; "third a.s.sistant shipping clerk in a wholesale grocery. Why, the manager of the department only gets thirty and he's been with the house twenty-six years."

"That's a sweet outlook for me, I must say," cried f.a.n.n.y in dismay.

"If it takes a man twenty-six years to work up to thirty, I suppose you'll be getting eighteen eleven years from the third of next January."

Jimmie looked closely at both girls. He was not quite sure if they were making fun of him. Apparently satisfied that, on the contrary, they were in full sympathy with his troubles, he said:

"I'm doing my best and no fellow can do more! That's what makes me so sore, I tell you. Here I am slaving away for fourteen a week and he spends three hundred just for his rooms. I wonder how many rooms he gets for that?"

"I think it's twelve and four baths," said f.a.n.n.y.

"Four baths!" he gasped. "What in G.o.d's name can a bachelor do with four baths?"

"Is there any reason he shouldn't have them if he can pay for them?"

demanded f.a.n.n.y quietly.

"But what good are they to him," insisted her fiance. "No matter how much money he has, he can't be in more than one tub at a time. I suppose he uses 'em Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Sat.u.r.day--and keeps the favorite for the special splash on Sunday."

Virginia looked at him scornfully.

"Do you realize," she exclaimed, "that Mr. Stafford has servants and that he has friends come to stay with him occasionally?"

Abashed, the young man put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle. He stood in considerable awe of Virginia.

"Oh, I hadn't thought o' that," he said mildly.

Flushing with vexation at his making such remarks, f.a.n.n.y said to him in a quick undertone:

"Take my advice and do think--once in a while. And get rid of that temper, too. For the first time in our lives we're invited to dine with a rich man and I, for one, want to enjoy it."

Jimmie opened his mouth as if to make some retort, when suddenly Oku re-appeared carrying a tray in which was a tempting spread of c.o.c.ktails, cigarettes and cigars.

CHAPTER VII

While the butler was serving the c.o.c.ktails, Virginia roamed through the splendid suite of rooms, taking keen delight in examining at closer range one and all of the art treasures they contained. She went into silent ecstasies before a Da Vinci, a Rembrandt and other fine examples of the old masters, and was held spellbound by the beautiful modelling of a piece of modern French sculpture. She was not enough of a connoisseur to be able to estimate each picture, each curio at its true value, but she knew enough to realize that it was a very valuable collection and one which very few persons were privileged to view. The books with their fine bindings were likewise a source of particular delight.

How happy, she mused, the possessor of such a paradise ought to be!

She wondered if he spent much time at home or if he preferred to answer the call of the gay metropolis. He looked like a man who enjoyed life. Why had he taken all this trouble for such obscure persons as themselves? Why had he looked at her in that persistent, admiring way? Could it be possible that he was really attracted to her and had begun to think of her as a man does of the woman he wants to marry? Was it conceivable that she could ever be the mistress of such a beautiful home as this? What folly to even dream of such a possibility! Possibly, he was attracted to her and liked her company, but there was a vast difference between a fleeting whim and wishing to make her his wife. And when her glance fell on Jimmie and f.a.n.n.y squabbling in the distance it was with some bitterness that she realized the difference in their station, the width of the social chasm between her and the set to which their host belonged.

"Excuse--please--excuse," spluttered the polite little j.a.p as he gracefully presented the salver to each guest.

f.a.n.n.y took a gla.s.s, followed in turn by Jimmie, who, extending his clumsy hand, s.n.a.t.c.hed one of the dainty gla.s.ses and put it to his lips. The butler, all smiles and civility, placed the tray on a table and again bowed low. Pointing to the tray, he said:

"Cigarettes and cigars! Is there anything else?"

"Not for me," replied Jimmie, making himself comfortable in a chair on the other side of the table.

"Nor for me," smiled f.a.n.n.y, graciously.

"No, thank you," added Virginia quickly. "We need nothing else."

"Then excuse, please. Excuse--"

The butler salaamed and withdrew, leaving Jimmie and f.a.n.n.y sipping their c.o.c.ktails, while Virginia, still interested in the hundred and one curios scattered about the rooms, strolled around alone.