to Robert that
he gave little sidelong suspicious glances at him out of his keen grey
eyes. Yet, if he were so careful and discreet there was the more reason
to think that there was information to be extracted, if he could but find
a way to it.
"Ah, there it lies!" he remarked, as they topped the brow of the hill, and
looked down once more at the great building. "Well, no doubt it is very
gorgeous and splendid, but really for my own part I would rather live in
my own little box down yonder in the village."
The workman puffed gravely at his pipe.
"You are no great admirer of wealth, then?" he said.
"Not I. I should not care to be a penny richer than I am. Of course I
should like to sell my pictures. One must make a living. But beyond
that I ask nothing. I dare say that I, a poor artist, or you, a man who
work for your bread, have more happiness out of life than the owner of
that great palace,"
"Indeed, I think that it is more than likely," the other answered, in a
much more conciliatory voice.
"Art," said Robert, warming to the subject, "is her own reward. What
mere bodily indulgence is there which money could buy which can
give that deep thrill of satisfaction which comes on the man who has
conceived something new, something beautiful, and the daily delight as
he sees it grow under his hand, until it stands before him a completed
whole? With my art and without wealth I am happy. Without my art I
should have a void which no money could fill. But I really don't know
why I should say all this to you."
The workman had stopped, and was staring at him earnestly with a look
of the deepest interest upon his smoke-darkened features.
"I am very glad to hear what you say," said he. "It is a pleasure to know
that the worship of gold is not quite universal, and that there are at least
some who can rise above it. Would you mind my shaking you by the
hand?"
It was a somewhat extraordinary request, but Robert rather prided
himself upon his Bohemianism, and upon his happy facility for making
friends with all sorts and conditions of men. He readily exchanged a
cordial grip with his chance acquaintance.
"You expressed some curiosity as to this house. I know the grounds
pretty well, and might perhaps show you one or two little things which
would interest you. Here are the gates. Will you come in with me?"
Here was, indeed, a chance. Robert eagerly assented, and walked up the
winding drive amid the growing fir-trees. When he found his uncouth
guide, however, marching straight across the broad, gravel square to the
main entrance, he felt that he had placed himself in a false position.
"Surely not through the front door," he whispered, plucking his
companion by the sleeve. "Perhaps Mr. Raffles Haw might not like it."
"I don't think there will be any difficulty," said the other, with a quiet
smile. "My name is Raffles Haw."
CHAPTER III.
A HOUSE OF WONDERS.
Robert McIntyre's face must have expressed the utter astonishment
which filled his mind at this most unlooked-for announcement. For a
moment he thought that his companion must be joking, but the ease and
assurance with which he lounged up the steps, and the deep respect
with which a richly-clad functionary in the hall swung open the door to
admit him, showed that he spoke in sober earnest. Raffles Haw glanced
back, and seeing the look of absolute amazement upon the young
artist's features, he chuckled quietly to himself.
"You will forgive me, won't you, for not disclosing my identity?" he
said, laying his hand with a friendly gesture upon the other's sleeve.
"Had you known me you would have spoken less freely, and I should
not have had the opportunity of learning your true worth. For example,
you might hardly have been so frank upon the matter of wealth had you
known that you were speaking to the master of the Hall."
"I don't think that I was ever so astonished in my life," gasped Robert.
"Naturally you are. How could you take me for anything but a
workman? So I am. Chemistry is one of my hobbies, and I spend hours
a day in my laboratory yonder. I have only just struck work, and as I
had inhaled some not-over-pleasant gases, I thought that a turn down
the road and a whiff of tobacco might do me good. That was how I
came to meet you, and my toilet, I fear, corresponded only too well
with my smoke-grimed face. But I rather fancy I know you
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