"My God!" murmured the still dazed Bobo.
As they entered the gorgeous lobby of the famous hotel Bobo was overcome with self-consciousness. Bobo had always thought of the Madagascar as the abiding place of remote and exalted aristocrats. He slunk at Jack's heels with the yellow stick trailing limply.
"Buck up! Buck up!" whispered Jack. "Remember you are the cheese, and I'm only the mite that lives off it."
"Sure! Sure!" murmured Bobo, moistening his lips.
He made an effort, but quailed again before the sharp-eyed bell-boys. Jack reflected that since he was only supposed to be the millionaire of a day, this would appear natural enough.
"Sign the register," he whispered. "Remember you are John Farrow Norman, and I am John Robinson."
Bobo accomplished this all right. As the clerk nonchalantly spun the card around and read the name, he caught his breath slightly, and a wonderful silkiness crept into his voice.
"Very pleased to have you with us, sir. In a way I hope it's like coming home."
The other men behind the desk, arrested by the note of exceeding deference, made excuses to sidle past and glance at the register. Instantly a kind of electric current charged the office, and was presently communicated to the bell-boys' bench, whence it spread throughout the lobby. "It's Jack Norman," the busy whisper went around.
"I hope you're going to remain with us permanently, Mr. Norman," added the clerk. "What accommodations will you require?"