'Mr Rocco?' questioned Racksole lightly.

'Mr Rocco,' repeated Jules with firmness.

'And who is Mr Rocco?'

'Mr Rocco is our chef, sir.' Jules had the expression of a man who
is asked to explain who Shakespeare was.

The two men looked at each other. It seemed incredible that
Theodore Racksole, the ineffable Racksole, who owned a thousand
miles of railway, several towns, and sixty votes in Congress,
should be defied by a waiter, or even by a whole hotel. Yet so it
was. When Europe's effete back is against the wall not a regiment
of millionaires can turn its flank. Jules had the calm expression of
a strong man sure of victory. His face said: 'You beat me once, but
not this time, my New York friend!'

As for Nella, knowing her father, she foresaw interesting events,
and waited confidently for the steak. She did not feel hungry, and
she could afford to wait.

'Excuse me a moment, Nella,' said Theodore Racksole quietly, 'I
shall be back in about two seconds,' and he strode out of the salle à
manger. No one in the room recognized the millionaire, for he was
unknown to London, this being his first visit to Europe for over
twenty years. Had anyone done so, and caught the expression on
his face, that man might have trembled for an explosion which
should have blown the entire Grand Babylon into the Thames.