oom. They were in every color of
wood and charged with brass ornaments. Evidently they were there _as
ornaments, not to be used_. Some one must have said to Mr. S., "You
must have a piano." And he must have answered: "Certainly. Of course we
must. Let us have one in each room, by all means."

The servants all had mustaches and hair curled with tongs. I saw the
eyebrows of my party go up at an angle when the servants offered them
Johannesburg in gold cups, and still higher up when they saw the
mustached waiters pouring white wine in glasses which were previously
filled with red wine and alternated indiscriminately.

We were taken up-stairs to see Mrs. S.'s bedroom. It was worthy of an
empress, having point-lace coverlids, satin down quilts trimmed with
real Valenciennes.

What struck me the most in all this splendor was that so much money
should have been expended in furnishing a perishable wooden palace
which any tuppenny earthquake or fire could demolish in a moment.
Another thing I noticed was that, though everything else was so
handsome and costly, the glass and porcelain were of the most ordinary
kind.

We enjoyed ourselves immensely and compared notes when we reached the
hotel. Barring our individual millionaire, we hardly spoke to the
others. We were simply insignificant meteors passing hastily in their
midst.

Well, we went to the Senator's country place. A carriage with four
horses was waiting for us at the station, and we drove up in fine style
to the millionaire's mansion, where some Irish servants with baggy
trousers, tumbled cravats, and no gloves opened wide the doors,
ushering us into a large hall, where a gentleman whom we guessed was
our host came forward to greet us.

We were glad that we were going at last to make his acquaintance. He is
a millionaire and a Senator. That is all I can say about him at
present, except that he is extremely hospitable. He did not know one of
us from the other, except Kasson. He knew we were a "distinguished
party" because the papers said so. When we were being dealt out to our
rooms there was great confusion. Senator Sharon had an ancient _dame de
compagnie_--the head priestess--who made it a particular point to
dispose of Miss Clymer before any of the rest of us. She said, "Which
of these gents is your husband?" At which Miss C. blushed and found no
other answer than, "_None_." J. and I finally secured the same room,
because when Mr. S. in a moment of despair said