I leave my readers to imagine what sort of a lunch I had in the company of two gentlemen whose duty it was to struggle with the problem of discovering the real character and attainments of a guest who knew he was under inspection.

I found Mr. Ralph Pulitzer to be a slender, clean-cut, pale gentleman of an extremely quiet and self-possessed manner.  He was very agreeable, and he listened to my torrent of words with an interest which, if it were real, reflected great credit on me, and which, if it were feigned, reflected not less credit on him.

As we parted he said, “I shall write to my father to-day and tell him of our meeting.  Of course, as you know, the decision in this matter rests entirely with him.”

After this incident there was another long silence, and I again fixed upon a day beyond which I would not allow my hopes to flourish.  The day arrived, nothing happened, and the next morning I went down to the offices of the West India Royal Mail Steam Packet Company and made inquiries about the boats for Barbados.  I spent the afternoon at my club making out a list of things to be taken out as aids to comfortable housekeeping in a semi-tropical country—­a list which swelled amazingly as I turned over the fascinating pages of the Army and Navy Stores Catalogue.

By dinner time I had become more than reconciled to the new turn of affairs, and when I reached my flat at midnight I found myself impatient of the necessary delay before I could settle down to a life of easy literary activity in one of the most delightful climates in the world and in the neighborhood of a large circle of charming friends and acquaintances.

On the table in the hall I found a telegram from Mr. Tuohy instructing me to start next morning for Mentone, where Mr. Pulitzer would entertain me as his guest for a fortnight, either at his villa or aboard his yacht Liberty, and informing me that I would find at my club early in the morning an envelope containing a ticket to Mentone, with sleeper and parlor-car accommodation, and a check to cover incidental expenses.

The tickets and the check were accompanied by a letter in which I was told that I was to consider this two weeks’ visit as a trial, that during that time all my expenses would be paid, that I would receive an honorarium of so much a day from the time I left London until I was engaged by Mr. Pulitzer or had arrived back in London after rejection by him, and that everything depended upon the impression I made on my host.

I left London cold, damp, and foggy; and in less than twenty-four hours I was in the train between Marseilles and Mentone, watching the surf playing among the rocks in the brilliant sunshine of the Cote d’Azur.  In the tiny harbor of Mentone I found, anchored stern-on to the quay, the steam yacht Liberty—­a miracle of snowy decks and gleaming brass-work—­ tonnage 1,607, length over all 316 feet, beam 35.6 feet, crew 60, all told.