ck" wagons approached
the Ryder mansion and the guides, through their megaphones,
expatiated in awe-stricken tones on its external and hidden
beauties, there was a general craning of vertebrae among the
"seeing New York"-ers to catch a glimpse of the abode of the
richest man in the world.

Only a few privileged ones were ever permitted to penetrate to the
interior of this ten-million-dollar home. Ryder was not fond of
company, he avoided strangers and lived in continual apprehension
of the subpoena server. Not that he feared the law, only he
usually found it inconvenient to answer questions in court under
oath. The explicit instructions to the servants, therefore, were
to admit no one under any pretext whatever unless the visitor had
been approved by the Hon. Fitzroy Bagley, Mr. Ryder's aristocratic
private secretary, and to facilitate this preliminary inspection
there had been installed between the library upstairs and the
front door one of those ingenious electric writing devices, such
as are used in banks, on which a name is hastily scribbled,
instantly transmitted elsewhere, immediately answered and the
visitor promptly admitted or as quickly shown the door.

Indeed the house, from the street, presented many of the
characteristics of a prison. It had massive doors behind a row of
highly polished steel gates, which would prove as useful in case
of attempted invasion as they were now ornamental, and heavily
barred windows, while on either side of the portico were great
marble columns hung with chains and surmounted with bronze lions
rampant. It was unusual to keep the town house open so late in the
summer, but Mr. Ryder was obliged for business reasons to be in
New York at this time, and Mrs. Ryder, who was one of the few
American wives who do not always get their own way, had
good-naturedly acquiesced in the wishes of her lord.

Jefferson did not have to ring at the paternal portal. The
sentinel within was at his post; no one could approach that door
without being seen and his arrival and appearance signalled
upstairs. But the great man's son headed the list of the
privileged ones, so without ado the smartly dressed flunkey opened
wide the doors and Jefferson was under his father's roof.

"Is my father in?" he demanded of the man.

"No, sir," was the respectful answer. "Mr. Ryder has gone out
driving, but Mr. Bagley is upstairs." Then after a brief pause he
added: "Mrs. Ryder is in, too."

In this household