Jurgis had started involuntarily; the other, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, demanded: “Whuzzamatter, hey? Heard of him?”

And Jurgis managed to stammer out: “I have worked for him in the yards.”

“What!” cried Master Freddie, with a yell. “You! In the yards? Ho, ho! Why, say, thass good! Shake hands on it, ole man—by Harry! Guv’ner ought to be here—glad to see you. Great fren’s with the men, guv’ner—labor an’ capital, commun’ty ‘f int’rests, an’ all that—hic! Funny things happen in this world, don’t they, ole man? Hamilton, lemme interduce you—fren’ the family—ole fren’ the guv’ner’s—works in the yards. Come to spend the night wiz me, Hamilton—have a hot time. Me fren’, Mr.—whuzya name, ole chappie? Tell us your name.”

“Rudkus—Jurgis Rudkus.”

“My fren’, Mr. Rednose, Hamilton—shake han’s.”

The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound; and suddenly Master Freddie pointed an eager finger at him. “I know whuzzamatter wiz you, Hamilton—lay you a dollar I know! You think—hic—you think I’m drunk! Hey, now?”

And the butler again bowed his head. “Yes, sir,” he said, at which Master Freddie hung tightly upon Jurgis’s neck and went into a fit of laughter. “Hamilton, you damn ole scoundrel,” he roared, “I’ll ‘scharge you for impudence, you see ‘f I don’t! Ho, ho, ho! I’m drunk! Ho, ho!”

The two waited until his fit had spent itself, to see what new whim would seize him. “Whatcha wanta do?” he queried suddenly. “Wanta see the place, ole chappie? Wamme play the guv’ner—show you roun’? State parlors—Looee Cans—Looee Sez—chairs cost three thousand apiece. Tea room Maryanntnet—picture of shepherds dancing—Ruysdael—twenty-three thousan’! Ballroom—balc’ny pillars—hic—imported—special ship—sixty-eight thousan’! Ceilin’ painted in Rome—whuzzat feller’s name, Hamilton—Mattatoni? Macaroni? Then this place—silver bowl—Benvenuto Cellini—rummy ole Dago! An’ the organ—thirty thousan’ dollars, sir—starter up, Hamilton, let Mr. Rednose hear it. No—never mind—clean forgot—says he’s hungry, Hamilton—less have some supper. Only—hic—don’t less have it here—come up to my place, ole sport—nice an’ cosy. This way—steady now, don’t slip on the floor. Hamilton, we’ll have a cole spread, an’ some fizz—don’t leave out the fizz, by Harry. We’ll have some of the eighteen-thirty Madeira. Hear me, sir?”

“Yes, sir,” said the butler, “but, Master Frederick, your father left orders—”

And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. “My father’s orders were left to me—hic—an’ not to you,” he said. Then, clasping Jurgis tightly by the neck, he staggered out of the room; on the way another idea occurred to him, and he asked: “Any—hic—cable message for me, Hamilton?”