that have been carefully laid out in order. He is always hovering round
me, and I rather pride myself on the fact that I lace my own shoes and
brush my own hair. Then he gives me a silk handkerchief and I stroll
into my upstairs sitting room ready for breakfast.

My daughters are still sleeping. They rarely get up before eleven in the
morning, and my wife and I do not, as a rule, breakfast together. We
have tried that arrangement and found it wanting, for we are slightly
irritable at this hour. My son has already gone downtown. So I enter the
chintz-furnished room alone and sit down by myself before a bright wood
fire and glance at the paper, which the valet has ironed, while I nibble
an egg, drink a glass of orange juice, swallow a few pieces of toast and
quaff a great cup of fragrant coffee.

Coffee! Goddess of the nerve-exhausted! Sweet invigorator of tired
manhood! Savior of the American race! I could not live without you! One
draft at your Pyrenean fountain and I am young again! For a moment the
sun shines as it used to do in my boyhood's days; my blood quickens; I
am eager to be off to business--to do, no matter what.

I enter the elevator and sink to the ground floor. My valet and butler
are waiting, the former with my coat over his arm, ready to help me into
it. Then he hands me my hat and stick, while the butler opens the front
door and escorts me to my motor. The chauffeur touches his hat. I light
a small and excellent Havana cigar and sink back among the cushions. The
interior of the car smells faintly of rich upholstery and violet
perfume. My daughters have been to a ball the night before. If it is
fine I have the landaulette hood thrown open and take the air as far as
Washington Square--if not, I am deposited at the Subway.