See?'
'Decidedly,' said Hazell; 'I should have done so in any case.'
'And now, Mr Hazell,' said Racksole, 'will you do me the pleasure
of lunching with me? If you agree, I should like to lunch at the
place you usually frequent.'
So it came to pass that Theodore Racksole and George Hazell,
outdoor clerk in the Customs, lunched together at 'Thomas's
Chop-House', in the city of London, upon mutton-chops and
coffee. The millionaire soon discovered that he had got hold of a
keen-witted man and a person of much insight.
'Tell me,' said Hazell, when they had reached the cigarette stage,
'are the magazine writers anything like correct?'
'What do you mean?' asked Racksole, mystified.
'Well, you're a millionaire - "one of the best", I believe. One often
sees articles on and interviews with millionaires, which describe
their private railroad cars, their steam yachts on the Hudson, their
marble stables, and so on, and so on. Do you happen to have those
things?'
'I have a private car on the New York Central, and I have a two
thousand ton schooner-yacht - though it isn't on the Hudson. It
happens just now to be on East River. And I am bound to admit
that the stables of my uptown place are fitted with marble.'
Racksole laughed.
'Ah!' said Hazell. 'Now I can believe that I am lunching with a
millionaire.
It's strange how facts like those - unimportant in themselves -
appeal to the imagination.
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