master's feet--tootle music very sneaky--'transformation! Burgess
in heaven, blinking, puzzled, stretching one wing, reflectively
scratching his halo with right hind foot. Angel chorus. Burgess
appears to enjoy it and lights one of my best cigars----"

"Sir?" said Burgess, very red.

Berkley swung around, levelled his walking-stick, and indicated the
pit of his servant's stomach:

"Your face is talking now; wait till _that_ begins to yell. It
will take more than I'm earning to fill it."

He stood a moment, smiling, curious. Then:

"You've been as faithless a valet as any servant who ever watered
wine, lost a gimcrack, or hooked a weed. Studs, neckcloths,
bootjacks, silk socks, pins, underwear--all magically and
eventually faded from my wardrobe, wafted to those silent bournes
of swag that valets wot of. What in hell do you want to stay
_here_ for now, you amusing wastrel?"

"Yes, sir. I'd prefer to stay with you."

"But there'll be no more pleasant pickings, my poor and faithless
steward! If you should convert anything more to your own bank
account I'll be obliged to stroll about naked."

"Yes, sir," muttered Burgess; "I brought back some things last
night--them socks, shirt-pins and studs, and the fob. . . . Yes,