“Land is immensely valuable here,” said Tamms. “That’s Deacon Thompson’s place; he paid thirty thousand for it two years ago, and he says he’s been offered fifty since.” Charlie looked at the red-and-green structure, with its little paddock of lawn, and felt that it would not satisfy him; and yet he possessed not even thirty thousand dollars. “Pretty place,” said Tamms. Charlie assented. “Now what does a man like that want money for?” he argued to himself. But Tamms, having paid this tribute to the æsthetic side of life, proceeded to open his telegrams, and cast a hasty eye on the stock-reports in Charlie’s paper; then they both conversed of stocks and bonds. And after driving some three miles above the water (which made continual murmur at their feet) they drove back the way they came. At Elberon, Tamms pointed out the cottage where Garfield died. “I see the Starbuck Oil has declared its usual dividend,” said Charlie, watching his chief closely. “The boys say it wasn’t earned.” “I don’t suppose the directors would have paid it if they hadn’t earned it,” said Tamms, sharply. Now Tamms, since they had purchased the control, was one of the directors. “I suppose not,” said Charlie. “I was merely saying what the boys say.” “Humph!” was all the reply his host vouchsafed to this; and by this time they were driving into the carefully pebbled avenue of “The Mistletoe,” which was Mr. Tamms’s abode. It was a small hotel, partly surrounded by glass galleries, in one of which three young men were sitting at a lunch-table, over claret and seltzer and liqueurs, though it was after six o’clock. The house was most ornately furnished; a little yellow-haired girl of twelve, dressed in pale lilac silk, with a short skirt, and mauve silk stockings on her long little legs, was standing at the counter talking to the clerk. All the servants were in livery, and Charlie made a mental note that the place was unexpectedly “swell.” “You want to go up to your room before dinner, I suppose,” said Tamms, as if making a concession to Charlie’s juvenile weaknesses. Charlie found his room a small apartment, with a rather expensive carpet and a most overpowering wall-paper; and it had the unusual luxury of a dressing-room attached. The sea was quite out of sight; but his room looked out upon the dusty street, and a printed placard on the wall informed him that its cost was twelve dollars a day. There was neither view, nor hills, nor country, nor even trees (save a line of petted young oaks that gave the place its name), in sight; but in every direction the eye was met by scores upon scores of wooden houses; and on the clipped grass that struggled with the red-clay plain the sun’s rays still beat mercilessly.