“So there you are,” he remarked to Butler, genially, extending his hand. “I’m certainly glad to see you. And Owen! How are you, Owen? What will you gentlemen have to drink, and what will you smoke? I know you’ll have something. John”—to the servitor—-“see if you can find something for these gentlemen. I have just been listening to Caroline play; but I think you’ve frightened her off for the time being.”
He moved a chair into position for Butler, and indicated to Owen another on the other side of the table. In a moment his servant had returned with a silver tray of elaborate design, carrying whiskies and wines of various dates and cigars in profusion. Owen was the new type of young financier who neither smoked nor drank. His father temperately did both.
“It’s a comfortable place you have here,” said Butler, without any indication of the important mission that had brought him. “I don’t wonder you stay at home Sunday evenings. What’s new in the city?”
“Nothing much, so far as I can see,” replied Mollenhauer, pacifically. “Things seem to be running smooth enough. You don’t know anything that we ought to worry about, do you?”
“Well, yes,” said Butler, draining off the remainder of a brandy and soda that had been prepared for him. “One thing. You haven’t seen an avenin’ paper, have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Mollenhauer, straightening up. “Is there one out? What’s the trouble anyhow?”
“Nothing—except Chicago’s burning, and it looks as though we’d have a little money-storm here in the morning.”
“You don’t say! I didn’t hear that. There’s a paper out, is there? Well, well—is it much of a fire?”
“The city is burning down, so they say,” put in Owen, who was watching the face of the distinguished politician with considerable interest.
“Well, that is news. I must send out and get a paper. John!” he called. His man-servant appeared. “See if you can get me a paper somewhere.” The servant disappeared. “What makes you think that would have anything to do with us?” observed Mollenhauer, returning to Butler.