Anthony M. Rud

“ It seemed that he just had come from New Zealand, where he had been wool grower on a large scale. “Live in Auckland,” “several large ranch,” “eighty thousand acre of grazing land,” were a few of the descriptive phrases. My valet painted him as a young and ambitious multimillionaire who had become impatient with life in the provinces. He was visiting the United States, particularly the cities of New York and Chicago, for social and industrial purposes. Now and then I noticed the character-clothes tailor glance at me rather doubtfully, but Mitsui's heavy, even tone never varied. ”

“ This,” and he dropped a tiny leather bound volume on top of the pamphlets, “describe New Zealand. You learn all necessary from it. A friend you trust come for dinner to-night. His name Hoffman. He tell about New Zealand all you want."
I nodded at him in admiration. “You fellows seem to have this all cooked up for me all right,” I commented. “Guess I won't need brains to get along.”
Mitsui's slant eyes canned me carefully. “That's not so, sir!” he answered, emphasis in his tone. “J. M. want a much intelligent man for your place.” ”

“ Why am I supposed to be a millionaire, and what's going to happen to me if some one asks me something about sheep raising in Australia? I had tea with an Anzac scout down in the ward of the clearing hospital at St Nazaire once, but that's the nearest I've been to New Zealand.”
Without a word, Mitsui arose and pulled open a drawer in the table. “These,” he said, placing three pamphlets before me, “describe raising of sheep. ”