"He'd make you a French American, too, if I let him," he said to Septimus Rainer.
When the hair-dresser had done, the millionaire looked at himself in the glass with approval, and said, "Well, I do look spick and span, though gritty; yes--sir." "You'll look better when you have your clothes," said Tinker.

"And, now, I think you must want a drink." "That is so, sonny.

This is dry work, this getting clothes." Tinker took him to a cafe, adorned with an American bar.

Septimus Rainer lighted a cigar and refreshed himself with the whiskey sour of his native land; Tinker ate ices.

Over these agreeable occupations they talked; and the millionaire derived considerable entertainment and no little instruction from his young companion's views of life on the Mediterranean littoral, illustrated from the passing pleasure-seekers.
[Illustration: Over these agreeable occupations they talked.] When they got into the railway carriage on their return, he lighted another cigar, and lay back in the seat with the content of a man who had done a hard day's work.