"I won't do anything," he said. "I would like to hear what he has to say, though."
A little later he wrote that he was coming on the twentieth and that he would be glad to take dinner with Colfax.
The first meeting between Eugene and Colfax had been conclusive so far as future friendship was concerned. These two, like Eugene and Summerfield, were temperamentally in accord, though Colfax was very much superior to Summerfield in his ability to command men.
This night when they met at dinner at Colfax's house the latter was most cordial. Colfax had invited him to come to his office, and together they went uptown in his automobile. His residence was in upper Fifth Avenue, a new, white marble fronted building with great iron gates at the door and a splendid entry set with small palms and dwarf cedars. Eugene saw at once that this man was living in that intense atmosphere of commercial and financial rivalry which makes living in New York so keen. You could feel the air of hard, cold order about the place, the insistence on perfection of appointment, the compulsion toward material display which was held in check only by that sense of fitness, which knowledge of current taste and the mode in everything demanded. His automobile was very large and very new, the latest model, a great dark blue affair which ran as silently as a sewing machine. The footman who opened the door was six feet tall, dressed in knee breeches and a swallow-tailed coat. The valet was a Japanese, silent, polite, attentive. Eugene was introduced to Mrs. Colfax, a most graceful but somewhat self-conscious woman. A French maid later presented two children, a boy and a girl.
Eugene by now had become used to luxury in various forms, and this house was not superior to many he had seen; but it ranked with the best. Colfax was most free in it. He threw his overcoat to the valet carelessly and tossed his babies in the air by turn, when they were presented to him by the French maid. His wife, slightly taller than himself, received a resounding smack.
"There, Ceta," he exclaimed (a diminutive for Cecile, as Eugene subsequently learned), "how do you like that, eh? Meet Mr. Witla. He's an artist and an art director and an advertising manager and——"
"A most humble person," put in Eugene smilingly. "Not half as bad as you may think. His report is greatly exaggerated."
Mrs. Colfax smiled sweetly. "I discount much that he says at once," she returned. "More later. Won't you come up into the library?"
They ascended together, jesting. Eugene was pleased with what he saw. Mrs. Colfax liked him. She excused herself after a little while and Colfax talked life in general. "I'm going to show you my house now, and after dinner I'm going to talk a little business to you. You interest me. I may as well tell you that."
"Well, you interest me, Colfax," said Eugene genially, "I like you."