Still even his new enterprises paid. He was a good business man, and he

shared with "the rabble" an appetite for cold cash. Nor did the crafty

Arts exhaust either his abilities or his desires; for though he had no

wish to pose before the world in the over-done rôle of a millionaire,

still he needed money and ever more and more money. To get it he kept

his hand in many a business enterprise and his eye on many a speculation

of which the gaping world did not dream. Even his right-hand editorial

writer knew not of his left-handed dip into an electric light company

here or a paving contract there, for his left hand had assistants

too,--quiet, unobtrusive, even shy,--men who could lobby a bill "on the

quiet," or wreck an opposing company, even though they did not know the

difference between Hafiz and chutney. And Mr. Early's mind was of such a

broad catholicity that it would be hard to tell which side of his

career he most enjoyed, the variety-show or the still-hunt.

Thus it will be seen that this great man, who was a credit to the new

art movement of our time, and of whom St. Etienne, a young western city,

felt justly proud, was in his usual element when he introduced to the

society, in which he was now a fixed star, a light from the Far East.

And Swami Ram Juna seemed so sure that he himself was right and all the

rest of the world was wrong, that Mr. Early felt him to be a kindred

spirit.

The impression deepened as he found himself alone with the Hindu. He had

rather dreaded the strange demands and customs that might meet him; but

the man of bronze and the snowy turban proved himself to be the best of

table companions, suave, courteous and sympathetic. He seemed even to

take a kindly interest in such matters of a day as Mr. Early's

incursions into the realms of art and literature. Through dinner they

chatted almost gaily, and afterward, while Mr. Early smoked, the Swami

joined him in the slow sipping of a liqueur.

There is a frankness of those who have nothing to hide; there is a

frankness which makes a mask for him who is, below the surface, all

mystery. As Sebastian studied his companion, he told himself that this

simple creature was after all a man, perhaps adapting himself to public

demands as any clever fellow would; and, as this thought occurred to

him, Mr. Early's benevolence increased.

"You ought to write a book," he said with the air of one projecting a

novel thought. "With your gift for expression, and your--ah--insight

into realities, you couldn't fail to make a success of it."

"It is my intention," said the Hindu.




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