"I ain't used to such luxury, Albert," said the old man, as he gazed around the comfortably appointed apartment. "You ought to see my cabin at Murphy's diggings. I reckon your servant would turn up her nose at it."
"I know you don't care much for style in California, uncle."
"No, we don't, though we've got as handsome houses in 'Frisco as anywhere else. Why, Albert, this room is fine enough for a prince."
"Then you can think yourself a prince," said the squire, genially. "Now, if you want to wash your face and hands, and arrange your toilet, you will have abundant time before dinner. Come down when you have finished."
Albert Marlowe returned to his wife.
"Mr. Marlowe," said she, "are you very sure that old man is rich?"
"I have no doubt of it, Julia."
"But what an old fright he is! Why, he looks dreadfully common, and his clothes are wretchedly shabby."
"True, Julia; but you must remember miners are not very particular about their dress."
"I should think not, if he is a fair specimen. It makes me shudder to think of his occupying the blue-room. The hall bedroom on the third floor would have been good enough for him."