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Everything, of course, was to be of appropriate quality--not
pretentious, but distinguished. Oh, yes! A book of that kind--it must
have a cachet of its own. . . .
Then, suddenly, he would observe that he was joking; only joking.
The true Mr. Eames revealed and reasserted himself. He shrank from the
idea. He closed up like a flower in the chill of night-fall. He was not
going to put himself under obligations to anybody. He would keep his
sense of personal independence, even if it entailed the sacrifice of a
life's ambition. Owe no man anything! The words rang in his ears. They
were his father's words. Owe no man anything! They were that
gentleman's definition of a gentleman--a definition which was cordially
approved by every other gentleman who, like Mr. Eames junior, happened
to hold analogous views.
Gentlemen being rather scarce nowadays, we cannot but feel grateful to
the Crotalophoboi for devouring Saint Dodekanus and paving the way, VIA
the ANTIQUITIES of Monsignor Perrelli, for the refined personality of
Mr.


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