In early October, after drifting down for almost a month, the stock market started to rise again. It wouldn’t be long, people were saying, before it was back at its peak again. On Thursday, October 17, Mrs. Master threw a party to celebrate the publication of Edmund Keller’s Mighty Rome. The word was that the book was very good.

Rose left no stone unturned. She invited everybody: people who gave parties, people who gave presents, people who owned bookstores, donors to the New York Public Library—sadly old Elihu Pusey had died—and a slew of journalists, magazine and literary editors drummed up by Charlie. The cream of the social, business and literary world was there. Even Nicholas Murray Butler put in an appearance. An event like this, after all, was quite useful for the university. Keller was put at a table and made to sign copies of his book. They cleared two hundred, and Rose bought another fifty to give away to friends who’d spread the word.

Edmund Keller was overwhelmed by her kindness. And he gave back in return. For the highlight of the evening was the charming speech of thanks that he gave. His years of lecturing had made him a quite delightful and polished performer. He made them all laugh, closing to loud applause; but what gratified Rose most of all were the words he spoke about the Master family.

“This event is a particular pleasure and honor for me. More than sixty years ago my father, the photographer Theodore Keller, had the good fortune to come to the notice of one of this city’s oldest leading families, when Mr. and Mrs. Frank Master became his patrons and started him on his successful and, if I may say, eminent career. I was glad some years ago, at Columbia, to have the pleasure of teaching their great-grandson Charles Master, whom I nowadays call my friend. And if he could see us now—I hope he can—I know how delighted my father would be to see his son also honored by the kindness and support of the Master family today.”

Sixty years of patronage, one of the city’s oldest leading families. Old money. Rose beamed at him. This party had really turned out better than she could have expected.

It wasn’t very often that Uncle Luigi went to church, but on Sunday he did, and to keep him company, Salvatore went too.

The last two weeks had been very difficult for Uncle Luigi. As the clerk at the brokers had predicted, the market had been going up, clawing its way back toward the peak of early September. Yet Uncle Luigi could not help being troubled. His savings had really accumulated in a remarkable way. He didn’t want to stop working yet, but if he did stop, he had enough to live quite a pleasant life of retirement. He’d never told him, but he’d already stated in his will that Salvatore should inherit his money. It seemed only right. So from a personal point of view, and for his nephew’s sake, he had a duty to safeguard those savings.