his shoes, and with a locked door opening out into the hall, so that
the floor-porter could get them without disturbing one. Each of the
bath-rooms was the size of an ordinary man's parlour, with floor and
walls of snow-white marble, and a door composed of an imported
plate-glass mirror. There was a great porcelain tub, with glass
handles upon the wall by which you could help yourself out of it,
and a shower-bath with linen duck curtains, which were changed every
day; and a marble slab upon which you might lie to be rubbed by the
masseur who would come at the touch of a button.

There was no end to the miracles of this establishment, as Montague
found in the course of time. There was no chance that the antique
bronze clock on the mantel might go wrong, for it was electrically
controlled from the office. You did not open the window and let in
the dust, for the room was automatically ventilated, and you turned
a switch marked "hot" and "cold." The office would furnish you a
guide who would show you the establishment; and you might see your
bread being kneaded by electricity, upon an opal glass table, and
your eggs being tested by electric light; you might peer into huge
refrigerators, ventilated by electric fans, and in which each tiny
lamb chop reposed in a separate holder. Upon your own floor was a
pantry, provided with hot and cold storage-rooms and an air-tight
dumb-waiter; you might have your own private linen and crockery and
plate, and your own family butler, if you wished. Your children,
however, would not be permitted in the building, even though you
were dying--this was a small concession which you made to a host who
had invested a million dollars and a half in furniture alone.

A few minutes later the telephone bell rang, and Oliver answered it
and said, "Send him up."