Douglas Briggs walked down the street with a glow of amusement and pleasure. He felt proud of his friendship with one of the oldest and most distinguished Senators in Washington. He had reached the age, too, when he enjoyed being treated like a young man; it gave him reassurance. As he passed Congressman Burton’s house he noticed a line of carriages extending far up the street. Then he remembered that the Burtons were having a reception. “I ought to have asked Helen to go,” he thought. Then he was glad he had not asked her. She would need all her strength for the night; he had been putting too many burdens on her, of late.
This afternoon he was in one of his moods of fine physical exhilaration. He had had an exciting day in the House; but now he turned from all thought of care and looked forward with a boy’s delight to the evening. His wife had asked a few people to dinner to celebrate their establishment in their new house, and for the reception that would follow she had invited nearly everyone in Washington that they knew. As he approached the house he viewed it with a glow of satisfaction. He had secured one of the most desirable corner lots in Washington, and Hanscomb, whom he considered the best architect in the country, had built on it a structure that Briggs proudly considered an ornament to the city. It would be associated with him as other houses were associated with men conspicuous in Washington life.
On the sidewalk Michael, the servant whom Douglas Briggs had employed ever since becoming a house-holder in Washington, was supervising the arranging of the carpet on the steps and the hanging of the awning.
“Well, Michael, how goes it?” Briggs asked, pleasantly.
“All right, sir. The back of the work is broken,” Michael replied, with a grin. He brushed down his thick red hair and rubbed his hand over the perspiration on his forehead.
“Have those men come from the caterer’s?”
“The naygurs, sir? They arrived an hour ago, an’ ye’d think they owned the place.”
“Well, let them own it while they’re here,” said Briggs, severely, apprehensive of Michael’s great fault, a fondness for interfering with other servants and making trouble.
“Div’l the word I’ve had with ’em, sir!” Michael exclaimed with a look of scorn.
“Very well!” Briggs commented, severely. He was fond of Michael, whom he knew he could trust; but he had to be severe with the fellow.