“Mother of Moses!” he said in an awed voice.
And there was reason for his astonishment. Not only was Mr. Maitland’s equipage worthy of a reigning monarch, with its silver fittings, lacquered body and expensively uniformed servants, but the old man was wearing a dress suit of the latest fashion. His beard had been shortened a few inches, and across the spotless white waistcoat was stretched a heavy gold chain. On his hand many rings blazed and flashed in the light of the street standard. There was a camellia in his perfect lapel, and on his head the glossiest of silk hats. Leaning on a stick of ebony and ivory, he strutted across the pavement.
“Silk socks . . . patent leather shoes. My God! Look at his rings,” hissed Elk.
His profanity was almost excusable. The vision of splendour passed through the doors into the hall.
“He’s gone gay!” said Elk hollowly, and followed like a man in a dream.
From where he was placed, Dick had a good view of the millionaire. He sat throughout the second part of the programme with closed eyes, and so slow was he to start applauding after each item, that Dick was certain that he had been asleep and the clapping had awakened him.
Once he detected the old man stifling a yawn in the very midst of the second movement of Elgar’s violin concerto, which held the audience spellbound by its delicate beauty. With his big hands, now enshrined in white kid gloves, crossed on his stomach, the head of Mr. Maitland nodded and jerked.
When at last the concert was over, he looked round fearfully, as though to make absolutely certain that it was over, then rose and made his way out of the hall, his silk hat held clumsily in his hand.
A manager came in haste to meet him.
“I hope, Mr. Maitland, you enjoyed yourself?” Dick heard him say.