as smart a man as ever sold a Bible. At this moment he
was out of town, busied in New York with the preparation
of the plates of his new Hindu Testament (copyright);
but had he learned that a duke with several millions to
invest was about to visit the city, he would not have
left it for the whole of Hindustan.

"I suppose you are asking Mr. Boulder," said the rector.

"No," answered Mr. Fyshe very decidedly, dismissing the
name absolutely.

Indeed, there was even better reason not to introduce
Mr. Boulder to the Duke. Mr. Fyshe had made that sort of
mistake once, and never intended to make it again. It
was only a year ago, on the occasion of the visit of
young Viscount FitzThistle to the Mausoleum Club, that
Mr. Fyshe had introduced Mr. Boulder to the Viscount and
had suffered grievously thereby. For Mr. Boulder had no
sooner met the Viscount than he invited him up to his
hunting-lodge in Wisconsin, and that was the last thing
known of the investment of the FitzThistle fortune.

This Mr. Boulder of whom Mr. Fyshe spoke might indeed
have been seen at that moment at a further table of the
lunch room eating a solitary meal, an oldish man with a
great frame suggesting broken strength, with a white
beard and with falling under-eyelids that made him look
as if he were just about to cry. His eyes were blue and
far away, and his still, mournful face and his great bent