He looked with disfavor upon the dirty, sad-visaged house I had chosen for a residence. I explained everything as we went up the steps, even telling him to a penny the amount of money I had left. Instead of being dismayed, he only laughed, and turning to the cabby, tossed him his fare, with a liberal surplus, and then we went on into the house. My brother’s extravagance had always surprised me, but in our present circumstances, his indifference to money seemed unpardonable. Torrence looked around my little room with disgust. "I don’t like this place," he said. "We must move out of it." "When?" I asked in amazement. "Now!" he answered. "It’s the cheapest I could find." "I should think so!" he replied. "But even if you are making a little money, wouldn’t it be unwise to spend it? Remember I am doing nothing." Torrence smiled and said: "Now, Gurt, don’t undertake to lecture me, but order a four wheeler instead—perhaps we had better say a couple—for I want to carry all our traps at once, before they become too strongly impregnated with these quarters, and— Do you owe anything?" I explained that I had already paid in advance, that we had lost money once in that way, and that I hoped he would not consent to a further frittering of our funds; but Torrence was determined; and in less than an hour we found ourselves seated in a comfortable cab, with our luggage on top. As the driver was about to close the door, he stood for a moment to receive the order, I heard my brother say, quite distinctly; "_Hotel Mustapha!_" *IV.* Now, the Mustapha is among the very swellest hotels of London; indeed I doubt if there is any place of public entertainment in the whole of Europe, which is more magnificent, or whose rates are more exorbitant; and when I found myself standing in one of its superb corridors, I naturally wondered why we had come. In a few moments we were shown an apartment consisting of three large communicating rooms; two bed-chambers with a _salon_ between and all furnished palatially. "Do you think it will do?" inquired Torrence, looking around with a critical air of indifference. "For what?" I inquired. "For us." "The devil!" I exclaimed. "No, not for the devil but for you and me." I looked at him in dumb amazement, and then without another word, my brother dismissed the attendant, saying that he thought the rooms would answer the purpose, and ordered our luggage sent up immediately. Was the fellow losing his head? I feared he had already lost it. When left alone, we stood for a moment taking in the grandeur that surrounded us, from the gorgeous frescoes on the ceiling, to the sumptuous carpets beneath our feet; and then unable to contain myself, I asked Torrence if he were really going mad. The earnestness of my manner, and the dead serious look upon my face, made him laugh until he rolled over upon one of the Turkish divans.