Colonel Curmew, a jaunty gentleman of less than middle height and age, looked at him out of a pair of eyes slightly inclined to pop. He appeared to be rather a good-looking man at first glance, with a perceptible military cut which, however, seemed to threaten something akin to a strut. He didn’t exactly strut when he stepped, but he held himself very erect—the more so perhaps because he seemed to lack something else—perhaps height. He knew Edgerton perfectly well by sight and reputation; and when he sat down he was still looking at him out of his full, pale eyes. Mr. Rivett also seated himself—a little man with a walrus mustache who somehow looked as though, under his loosely cut clothes, his slight physique was steel framed. He put on his glasses and looked at Edgerton out of two little unwinking eyes which reminded the young fellow of holes burned in a blanket. "I came," he said cautiously, "in answer to a somewhat unusual advertisement." "Yes," said Edgerton pleasantly, "we advertised." "If I recollect," continued Mr. Rivett, "you did not figure in the advertisement." "No," replied Edgerton, smiling; "my cousins possess the family talents; I’m supernumerary—merely thrown in. My services are not worth very much; I ride and shoot, of course, and all that, but I don’t talk very well and my dancing is the limit." "I see." Edgerton nodded serenely. Colonel Curmew passed a carefully gloved hand over his trimly curled military mustache. Edgerton glanced at him and wondered just what was the matter with his face, which ought to have been good-looking. Perhaps the short, closely cropped side whiskers extending to the lobes of the ears slightly cheapened the mustache, and vulgarized the man a little. Colonel Curmew said: "I have never had the honor of knowing you, Mr. Edgerton, but your name and face are very familiar to me on Fifth Avenue." "My people have lived on Fifth Avenue for—some time," replied the young fellow, smiling; and caught Mr. Rivett’s burnt-brown gaze fixed steadily upon him. "Everybody," said Colonel Curmew, sitting very erect, but not exactly swaggering, "everybody in town regretted to hear of your family’s financial misfortune, Mr. Edgerton." "It’s very good of them to regret it. Naturally, also, that unexpected catastrophe explains my cousins’ desire for employment as well as my own." "I see," said Mr. Rivett, never taking his eyes off Edgerton. There was a pause; Colonel Curmew stroked his mustache and stared around at the tapestries and pictures. He evidently realized what they might bring at auction. "You are a lover of the antique, sir," he observed. "Oh, I don’t exactly love it. These things belonged to my uncle. The museum gets them ultimately." "Ah! a case of the dead hand?" "Mort main," nodded the young man indifferently.