Tetson turned to the servant: "Tell Smith to look after Mr. Hemming. Smith is a handy man. You will find all kinds of cigarettes in his keeping, and we shall dine at eight. If you feel hungry in the meantime, tell Smith."
He arose and shook hands. Hemming followed the servant, inwardly wondering, outwardly calm. He had met many strange people in his adventurous life, and had become accustomed to luck of every kind, but this big President, with the yellow cigar, was beyond anything he had ever dreamed.
"I am glad I was born with imagination, and have enjoyed the enlightening society of O'Rourke in so many strange places," he thought.
Smith proved to be a clean-shaven man, all in white and brass buttons. Hemming surveyed him with interest.
"I see that you are an Englishman, Smith," he said.
"No, sir," replied Smith, in faultless tones. "I was born on the Bowery. But I have been in London, sir, yes, sir, with Mr. Tetson. We haven't always lived in this 'ere 'ole."
It seemed to Hemming that the h's had been dropped with a certain amount of effort on the man's part, and that his eyes twinkled in a quite uncalled-for way. But it did not bother him now. Even a valet may be allowed his joke.
Soon he was enjoying the luxury of a shower-bath in a great, cool room, standing by itself in a vineyard and rose garden. The shower fell about six feet before it touched his head. The roof of the building was open to the peak, and a subdued light, leaf-filtered, came down through a glass tile set in among the earthen ones. The walls and floor were of white and blue tiles. The bath was of marble, as large as an English billiard-table, and not unlike the shallow basin of a fountain.
Cool and vigorous, Hemming stepped from the bath, replaced his eye-glass, and lit a cigarette. Swathed in a white robe, with his feet in native slippers, he unlocked the door and issued into the scented garden air. Smith awaited him in the vine-covered alley, holding a "swizzle" on a silver tray. He drained the glass, and, lifting up the hem of his robe, followed the valet back to the dressing-room. Chameleons darted across his path, and through the palms floated the ringing notes of a bugle-call.
"I found your razors and your brushes in the saddle-bags," announced Smith, "and these shirts, sir, I bought, guessing at your size, and—"