The morning edition of the _Plutopian Citizen_ simply said, "We understand that the Duke of Dulham arrives at the Grand Palaver this morning," after which it traced the Duke's pedigree back to Jock of Ealing in the twelfth century and let the matter go at that; and the noon edition of the _People's Advocate_ merely wrote, "We learn that Duke Dulham is in town.

He is a relation of Jack Ealing." But the _Commercial Echo and Financial Undertone_, appearing at four o'clock, printed in its stock-market columns the announcement: "We understand that the Duke of Dulham, who arrives in town today, is proposing to invest a large sum of money in American Industrials." And, of course, that announcement reached every member of the Mausoleum Club within twenty minutes.
* * * * * The Duke of Dulham entered the Mausoleum Club that evening at exactly seven of the clock.

He was a short, thick man with a shaven face, red as a brick, and grizzled hair, and from the look of him he could have got a job at sight in any lumber camp in Wisconsin.

He wore a dinner jacket, just like an ordinary person, but even without his Norfolk coat and his hobnailed boots there was something in the way in which he walked up the long main hall of the Mausoleum Club that every imported waiter in the place recognized in an instant.
The Duke cast his eye about the club and approved of it.

It seemed to him a modest, quiet place, very different from the staring ostentation that one sees too often in a German hof or an Italian palazzo.