‘I do not know, to five millions or so, what I am worth,’ said Racksole, with sincerity, his tone indicating that he would have been glad to give the information if it were in his power.
‘You have had anxieties, Mr Racksole?’
‘Still have them. I am now holiday-making in London with my daughter in order to get rid of them for a time.’
‘Is the purchase of hotels your notion of relaxation, then?’
Racksole shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is a change from railroads,’ he laughed.
‘Ah, my friend, you little know what you have bought.’
‘Oh! yes I do,’ returned Racksole; ‘I have bought just the first hotel in the world.’
‘That is true, that is true,’ Babylon admitted, gazing meditatively at the antique Persian carpet. ‘There is nothing, anywhere, like my hotel. But you will regret the purchase, Mr Racksole. It is no business of mine, of course, but I cannot help repeating that you will regret the purchase.’
‘I never regret.’
‘Then you will begin very soon—perhaps to-night.’