Gillie."
There was no sarcasm in his voice, nor did he intend any. The railroad
promoter was in good humor that evening, and he wanted his guests to
feel perfectly at home, but Jimmie, in his ignorant egotism thought
that his host was really flattered by his praise. Patronizingly, he
said:
"I do, for a fact. I think it's all right."
Pointing to the library beyond, the millionaire said carelessly:
"My best things are in that room. But there are some here that are
rather good, I think. Did you notice this?" He picked up from a table
a piece of carved ivory and held it so that all might see. "It was
carved by a Japanese master nearly eight hundred years ago."
"Did he get much for it?" asked Jimmie, opening wide his eyes.
"Who," smiled Stafford, "the carver?"
"Yes."
"Probably a few cents a day."
"A few cents a day?" gaped the clerk.
"Yes."
Jimmie whistled and walked away. Contemptuously he said:
"He ought to have joined the Carvers' Union."
Stafford laughed.
"There was none in those days," he said. "Even if there had been he
wouldn't have joined. He was an artist; he worked for the joy of
working."
Jimmie snickered. Sneeringly he said:
"He knew his own business best, I suppose, but I've never seen a man
who could raise a family on that."
Replacing the ivory back in the cabinet where it belonged, Stafford
turned to the mantel and pointed to the Peach Blow vase, which only a
few moments before had met with disaster.
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