His bills were always promptly paid at the end of the month; he dressed with elegance, took the best seat at the opera and theatres, was able to take a run around to Long Branch, Cape May, Newport, Saratoga and the White Mountains in the summer, and having spare money always with him to lend a friend an X or a XX, he was rated a good fellow among the men.
One night, about one, a.m., Schuyler Cluett was preparing to retire, and a friend who had accompanied him home had been shown to the spare room, which also opened into the parlour, so that the two talked as they undressed.
"That deuced valet of mine is always away when I need him most," growled the young bachelor.
"Now, here he is off at a ball, and why servants must have balls I cannot understand, and both you and I, Rayford, are half drunk, and need him to look after our comfort."
"It's too bad!" sang out Rayford from his room.
"I'd discharge him, Schuyler."
"I will, and I do. I discharge him every day, but I hire him over again before he gets off, and that spoils him; so I'll discharge him some time for a week, and it will teach him a lesson—ah! there he is now, and I'll have to go out in the hall and let him in, for he's forgotten his night key," and Schuyler Cluett went to the door to answer a ring.
As the door opened, he began to berate his valet, as he supposed it was, but was considerably taken aback at beholding a stranger enter the hall.
He failed to recognise him at first, but suddenly beheld him in the full light of the parlour, whither the stranger had strode with the remark: