Several times he’d almost sold up. Each time, though, the voice of the broker’s clerk had echoed in his head: “I’d hate you to miss out.”

No one wants to look like a fool. No one wants to be left behind.

Finally, in the hope that a visit to church might give him inspiration, or at least clear his mind, he gave religion a try.

The Church of the Transfiguration was quite well attended that morning. But the priest did not fail to notice that Luigi, whom he knew perfectly well, had put in a rare appearance. Since he hadn’t been to confession either, Uncle Luigi decided not to take the wafer—he didn’t want to come even closer under the priest’s eye. He listened to the sermon, though.

It was a sermon about Christ’s temptation in the desert. It surprised Uncle Luigi that the subject should be chosen now, since it normally belonged in Lent, but he paid close attention. The priest reminded the congregation how Our Lord had gone up to a high place, and the devil had urged him to jump out into the void, since the angels would surely save him. “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God,” Christ had replied. We must accept God’s will, the priest explained. We must not overreach, or make bets that God will help us. This, and much more, the priest said, and Uncle Luigi listened carefully.

Salvatore had not been so enthralled. He’d fidgeted irritably.

“I’m sure I heard a sermon like that when I was a child,” he remarked to his uncle when they got outside.

“And what did you think of it the second time?”

“Not much,” he said.

Uncle Luigi was thinking about the sermon, though. He was thinking about it a lot.

Wednesday, October 23, was a windy day. As usual, William Master was driven to his office in his Rolls-Royce.

There were quite a few Rolls-Royces in New York, these days. A decade earlier, the company had set up an American factory in Springfield, Massachusetts. But only the richest people had them. The sight of Mr. Master arriving at his brokerage house in the Rolls each morning had become quite a tradition. It was reassuring. It was good for business.

William had had this model for five years. The grand old Silver Ghost had given way to the Phantom now. William’s Phantom, its bodywork by Brewster, who operated out in Queensboro, Long Island, was also painted silver. The next model, the Phantom II, had just come out, and if he got that next year, he’d have that body painted silver too.

After being dropped at the office, he’d told Joe, the chauffeur, that he wouldn’t be needing him any more that day, so Joe was to take Rose out shopping. Joe was a good man, came from the Midwest somewhere, said he had an Indian grandmother. Always friendly, but only talked if you asked him to.