He sat on a low couch, among soft cushions, a magnificent bearskin rug beneath his feet.

He smoked one of the costly cigarettes and chatted with a young lady interviewer from Photo Land.
"You ask of my wife," he was saying.

"But she is more than a wife--she is my best pal, and, I may add, she is also my severest critic." He broke off here, for an obsequious Japanese butler entered with a tray of cooling drinks.

The tray would be gleaming silver, but he was uncertain about the drinks; something with long straws in them, probably.

But as to anything alcoholic, now--While he was trying to determine this the general-delivery window was opened and the interview had to wail.