Still even his new enterprises paid. He was a good business man, and he
shared with "the rabble" an appetite for cold cash. Nor did the crafty
Arts exhaust either his abilities or his desires; for though he had no
wish to pose before the world in the over-done rôle of a millionaire,
still he needed money and ever more and more money. To get it he kept
his hand in many a business enterprise and his eye on many a speculation
of which the gaping world did not dream. Even his right-hand editorial
writer knew not of his left-handed dip into an electric light company
here or a paving contract there, for his left hand had assistants
too,--quiet, unobtrusive, even shy,--men who could lobby a bill "on the
quiet," or wreck an opposing company, even though they did not know the
difference between Hafiz and chutney. And Mr. Early's mind was of such a
broad catholicity that it would be hard to tell which side of his
career he most enjoyed, the variety-show or the still-hunt.
Thus it will be seen that this great man, who was a credit to the new
art movement of our time, and of whom St. Etienne, a young western city,
felt justly proud, was in his usual element when he introduced to the
society, in which he was now a fixed star, a light from the Far East.
And Swami Ram Juna seemed so sure that he himself was right and all the
rest of the world was wrong, that Mr. Early felt him to be a kindred
spirit.
The impression deepened as he found himself alone with the Hindu. He had
rather dreaded the strange demands and customs that might meet him; but
the man of bronze and the snowy turban proved himself to be the best of
table companions, suave, courteous and sympathetic. He seemed even to
take a kindly interest in such matters of a day as Mr. Early's
incursions into the realms of art and literature. Through dinner they
chatted almost gaily, and afterward, while Mr. Early smoked, the Swami
joined him in the slow sipping of a liqueur.
There is a frankness of those who have nothing to hide; there is a
frankness which makes a mask for him who is, below the surface, all
mystery. As Sebastian studied his companion, he told himself that this
simple creature was after all a man, perhaps adapting himself to public
demands as any clever fellow would; and, as this thought occurred to
him, Mr. Early's benevolence increased.
"You ought to write a book," he said with the air of one projecting a
novel thought. "With your gift for expression, and your--ah--insight
into realities, you couldn't fail to make a success of it."
"It is my intention," said the Hindu.