"I am sorry. I daresay I could have rushed you through in the Oxford. They are mighty rigid and exclusive up there, but—well, you would have gone in with a rush. Men like you are always shoved through ahead of others. It isn't quite—ah—regular, you know, but it's done when a candidate of special prominence comes up. Of course, I need not explain that it's—ah—quite sub rosa?"
"Sure," said Mr. McFaddan promptly; "I know. We do it at the Jolly Dog Club." He was again eyeing his visitor narrowly, speculatively. "It's mighty good of you, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Have a cigar?"
"No, thank you. I seldom— On second thoughts, I will take one." It occurred to him that it was the diplomatic thing to do, no matter what kind of a cigar it was. Besides, he wouldn't feel called upon to terminate his visit at once if he lighted the man's cigar. He could at least smoke an inch or even an inch and a half of it before announcing that he would have to be going. And a great deal can happen during the consumption of an inch or so of tobacco.
"That's a good cigar," he commented, after a couple of puffs. He took it from his lips and inspected it critically.
Mr. McFaddan was pleased. "It ought to be," he said. "Fifty cents straight."
The visitor looked at it with sudden respect. "A little better than I'm in the habit of smoking," he said ingratiatingly.
"What does it cost to join the Oxford Club?" inquired the contractor.
"Twelve hundred dollars admission, and two hun-
