He nodded and proceeded on his way to the front door of his domicile. Mr. Johnson, narrowly escaping an impulse to take off his hat, proceeded on his homeward way.
"Any one at home?" Mr. Burton inquired, letting himself in.
There was no reply. Mr. Burton knocked with his gold-headed cane upon the side of the wall. The door at the end of the passage opened abruptly. Ellen appeared.
"What are you doing there, knocking all the plaster down?" she demanded, sharply. "If you want to come in, why can't you ring the bell? Standing there with your hat on as though the place belonged to you!"
Burton was a little taken aback. He recovered himself, however, secure in the splendid consciousness of his irreproachable clothes and the waiting motor-car. He threw open the door of the parlor.
"Step this way a moment, Ellen," he said. She followed him reluctantly into the room. He put his hand upon her shoulder to lead her to the window. She shook herself free at once.
"Hands off!" she ordered. "What is it you want?"
He pointed out of the window to the magnificent memorial of his success.
She looked at it disparagingly.
"What's that? Your taxicab?" she asked. "What did you keep him for?
You can get another one at the corner."
Burton gasped.