Kitabı oku: «The Duke in the Suburbs», sayfa 4
He looked at her and nodded.
"I understand," he said, for there was sufficient of the woman in his heart to understand sacrifice. She walked away and sent him Alicia.
They were exchanging banalities for the benefit of the surrounding audience when Hank came looking preternaturally solemn. "That custard, Duke."
His friend stared.
"What about it?"
"She's gone."
The Duke waited.
"That custard," said Hank impressively, "we made her, boiled her, stuck eggs all over her, and put her outside on the window-ledge to cool off."
The Duke said nothing, but his lips quivered.
"That custard was surely great," Hank went on, growing melancholy, "we copied her out of an evenin' paper, and whisked her and frisked her till she sizzled – and she's gone."
There was a solemn pause; the spectators held their breath, out of respect for Hank's grief.
"Whilst there was a sound of revelry downstairs, there came a thief," said Hank oracularly, "she clomb up the rare-old-ivy-green and started in to sample that custard."
The Duke leant forward.
"Not Tibs?" he asked breathlessly.
"Oh, not Tibs?" pleaded the girl.
"Tibs, it was surely," said Hank bitterly, "I saw that kinky tail of hers goin' over the wall."
X
The Duke had secured a few minutes alone with the girl. The remainder of the guests had departed, and Hank was keeping Mrs. Terrill mildly amused with an exposition of his philosophy.
It was a memorable day in the Duke's life, for amongst other unique experiences, he felt a diffidence amounting to shyness.
Remarkably enough it was the girl who was cool and self-possessed. He tried to carry off the matter with a high hand, but, as Hank so expressively put it, "he wilted some."
"Alicia," he began huskily – his throat-clearing cough was a confession of weakness.
"Did you like mother?" she asked. He could see she had no fear of the verdict. As he spoke of her he gained courage and took her hand, inanely enough, and she laughed a low, happy, amused laugh.
He laughed too, but sheepishly.
"Courage, mon enfant," she said boldly.
"Alicia," he said earnestly, "don't you wonder at me – and aren't you sorry for me struck dumb by your nearness? There was a man in Texas City once, who told me my bumps; and he said my two principal characteristics were modesty and courage, and said that I suffered from having too poor an opinion of myself. I have tried to get over that latter fault," he said bravely. "People pointed out the difficulty of reducing the modesty bump owing to the mystery of its location. Hank said, he guessed it was like one of those disappearing islands, that bob up and down in the Western Pacific, and every time I hit Modesty Hill, he made a careful survey and found I'd struck into Mount Nerve or Vanity Point. In the end he guessed the phrenologist was pulling my leg, and that one of the fellows had put him up to it. But I rather thought he was genuine, and the modesty bump he had located, was one I got through being thrown from a bronco when showing off before some girls in Texas. Now my respect for the phrenologist has gone up points. I feel – I feel like a little tame cat."
She let him find his way out, as best he could.
"This is the first time you and I have been alone," he said desperately, "and – and – "
"Go on," she said calmly.
It was a terrible experience for the Duke. He felt his grasp upon the situation slipping: he summoned his courage. They were in the deserted conservatory, which was twelve feet by eight feet and open to the gaze of the world on three sides.
"Have you seen my Japanese ferns?" he asked recklessly.
Now here is a curious problem that I present to the reader, whose greater knowledge of worldly affairs may help him to a solution. As the Duke spoke he indicated the screened side of the conservatory, which was as innocent of Japanese ferns as indeed of any forms of growth vegetable or horticultural as the dome of St. Paul's. Unless she imagined that the ferns might be discoverable in a microscopic crack in the wall it is difficult to understand why she replied, "I should like to see them," and walked innocently towards the screened corner. Then suddenly the Duke's arms were about her and his lips laid on hers.
She freed herself gently and raised her shining eyes to his.
"I didn't know you were going to do that," she said, but she made no inquiries about the Japanese ferns.
XI
The room was crowded, there was a hum of talk, a scraping of chairs, a high nervous laugh or so, and in some adjoining room the clatter of coffee cups. The Rev. Arthur had arranged the hall on a new plan, he said, and everybody agreed that it was an excellent plan. At one end of the room was a draped platform; on the floor, in place of the phalanx of benches, were scattered little tables with seats for four. It was a unique arrangement, some went so far as to defy the grammarian and say it was "most unique," but as a matter of fact neither the enthusiast nor the vulgarian were correct, for the Rev. Arthur – a most excellent Christian, overflowing with worldly wisdom – had modelled his arrangements after those obtaining at the wicked Cafe Chantant. Tea and coffee were to be served between the items, and a pleasurable evening seemed assured.
Without in any way desiring to anticipate the events of the night, I will go so far as to say, that the soirée might have been an unqualified success had "№ 4" on the programme been "No. 15" – which would have been the last. "No. 4," by the new arrangement, was:
Dramatic Monologue: Mr. Roderick Nape"The Murder at Fairleigh Grange" (Anon.).
When the Duke and Hank arrived every seat had been taken, and the heated organizers of the entertainment were pressing into service the schoolroom forms.
Somebody had reserved two seats at one of the tables. Sir Harry Tanneur and his amiable son had taken for granted that the seats had been reserved for them. Alicia tactfully pointed out that Sir Harry's proper place was at the vicar's table, since he had borne no small part of the cost of the postponed concert. Sir Harry and his son agreed, the latter grudgingly. When, a few minutes later, the Duke person and his friend arrived and calmly appropriated the reserved seats Hal started to his feet with an exclamation of annoyance; when Alicia welcomed them with a sweet smile he collapsed into his chair; and when, in shaking hands, the Duke held the girl's in his for an unjustifiable space of time, Mr. Hal Tanneur said something to himself which was quite out of harmony with the tone of the proceedings.
"Did you see that, governor?" he said beneath his breath, "did you see that wretched bounder – by Jove, I've half a mind to go over and break the fellow's head."
Sir Harry had seen "the bounder;" he had breathed a sigh of relief on seeing him. The Duke was the first man he had looked for when he entered the hall. Sir Harry's anxiety was mainly a matter of dates. For instance to-day was the 20th. Twenty plus eight=28. And the Ironic did not call at Queenstown. Sir Harry was happy in the thought that on this auspicious day the "Redhelm Line" and the "Nord Deutscher Line," had begun their famous record-breaking race across the Atlantic. The Ironichad the advantage of twelve hours' start. She left Liverpool at four o'clock that afternoon (she does not call at Queenstown, repeated Sir Harry mentally), the Kron Prinz Olaf, was due to leave Hamburg at 7 p.m. but she had distance to make up.
With these reflections to occupy his mind he paid little heed to his son's expressions of indignation. Instead he asked abruptly – "You have that cutting, Hal?"
"Which cutting?" demanded Hal aggressively.
"The order of the court – you can call upon our friend to-morrow and show it to him," he chuckled.
Strangely enough, the subject of the Atlantic race was under discussion at another table. It came à propos of the postponed concert.
"It would have been jolly inconvenient if this concert had occurred next week," said the Duke.
"Why?" she looked at him over her tiny fan.
"Because next week – next Wednesday as ever is, I must leave you," he said tragically.
She made no disguise of her disappointment.
"Bear up," he encouraged her, "I shall be away a fortnight."
"To America?"
A shadow of alarm fell on her face.
"Thinking of Bill Slewer?" he bantered, "Big Bad Bill?"
"Yes," she confessed.
"Oh, it isn't vendetta that takes me away," he said lightly, "something less romantic. When a man's single," he said sententiously, "he can afford to let money go hang, but when he has a wife – did you speak?"
"No," she said, and looked at her programme.
"When a man has a wife who is pretty certain to be extravagant – you're sure you didn't speak?"
She shook her head.
"Well, in that case, one has to look around one's silver mines, and floating investments and besides – "
Something in his tone made her look up; she saw a look half puzzled, half amused.
"Well – I've got feelings, Hank laughs at 'em, says it's all your fault."
"What kind of feeling?"
"A dread," he said slowly, "a sort of uneasiness about my property – a sort of – I don't know." He ended weakly and she thought irritably.
She looked at him steadily and silently, and Hank found an opening.
"Suppose this concert had come along next week, Duke – you could have still gone. Caught the midnight from Euston."
There must have been telepathic communication between Sir Harry and the Duke, for he replied —
"The Ironic does not call at Queenstown."
"S – sh!"
There was tremendous applause for the vicar. His audience smiled at him proprietorially and approvingly.
He was very pleased, he said, to see so many there that evening. He was afraid the postponement might have seriously jeopardized the success of the soirée, but our friend Sir Harry Tanneur (applause), whose name he should imagine was a household word throughout England (he ventured daringly), had been so anxious to be present and so munificent withal, that he had acceded to his wishes.
As this seemed the proper place to applaud, the audience dutifully applauded.
They were there primarily to assist an excellent cause. It was an open secret that the organ debt had seriously engaged the attention of those excellent gentlemen who administered the church funds (hear, hear, from the audience and "poor old organ" from the Duke), and it has been suggested that this entertainment should be provided with a view to the debt's reduction. Now as to the splendid fare that was to be set before them to-night, they had their friend the noble Duc de Montvillier (cheers), a gentleman who had always proved himself a ready and willing helper in church matters.
The girl looked at the Duke to see how he would take this gracious fiction. With folded arms and grave self-appreciation on every line of his face he accepted the undeserved tribute as his right.
"What a humbug you are," she murmured.
"Aren't I?" he said unabashed.
The Duc was to sing: then they had a unique entertainment promised by an American gentleman, who would give an exhibition of fancy pistol shooting (loud applause from the young men). This Mr. Slewer was a gentleman who had spent many years in the Wild West of America. And there were other performances of song and speech that would be found of equal fascination. The first item on the programme (he said, consulting his paper, though he might have taken the fact for granted) was a pianoforte solo by Mrs. Coyter (applause).
Whilst "The Moonlight on the Danube" was bathing Brockley in noisy effulgence, Hank moved his chair closer to the Duke.
"Fancy shootin's another word for accidental death," he said laconically, "you'll quit before then?"
It was half a question and the Duke shook his head.
"When Bill is doing his circus tricks I shall be sitting right here," he said emphatically.
"You won't," said Hank.
The Duke's intentions were sound, but Hank's predictions were inspired.
The Duke was not there when "fancy shooting" came on, neither for the matter of that was Bill Slewer, and it all came about on account of Mr. Roderick Nape and his thrilling monologue. That young gentleman was facing his audience with no great assurance. Certain disturbing events had taken his mind from the monologue. In the language of the turf he was "short of a few gallops," and he sat a prey to gloomy forebodings, cursing his folly, that he had not made himself word perfect and regretting with some bitterness the lost opportunities for rehearsal.
Too soon came the fatal announcement, "Mr. Roderick Nape will recite a dramatic monologue, 'The Murder at Fairleigh Grange,'" and he stumbled up on the platform clutching his manuscript tightly. He began huskily the opening lines.
"It is now many years since I became a detective, and care has whitened my locks, yet it seems but yesterday," etc., etc.
He slurred his lines horribly. He somehow missed the exact qualities of tragedy as he unfolded his gory tale.
The audience sat quiet and behaved decorously, but it refused to be thrilled. Mr. Nape recognized his failure and boggled his lines horribly, and the Duke was genuinely sorry for him. He came to the part of the story where he sees the agony advertisement. He was looking forward to this part, as the desert traveller anticipates the oasis. For here he had excuse for a pause, and a pause might help him to collect his scattered thoughts. So his utterance grew steadier as with trembling fingers he drew from his waistcoat pocket the little clipping.
"Come (he quavered), let me read the paper again;" he held it up and read – yes, actually read, although he ought to have remembered that this cutting had no reference whatever to the plot of his one-man melodrama. But Mr. Nape was beyond the point of reasoning.
"To whom it may concern," he read, then paused.
The audience was curious and silent, and Mr. Nape went on: —
"In the district court of Nevada."
Hank's arm gripped the Duke's.
"Take notice George Francisco Louis Duc de Montvillier, that a writ has been issued at the instance of Henry Sleaford of Colorado Springs, Henry B. Sant of New York and Sir Harry Tanneur of Montleigh, England, calling upon you to establish your title to the Silver Streak – "
"Stop!"
Sir Harry, his face purple, the veins of his temples swollen, was on his feet.
"Go on, Mr. Nape, please."
It was the Duke's gentle voice. In a dream Mr. Nape obeyed. In his not unnatural agitation he skipped a few lines. "… therefore I call upon you, the aforesaid George Francisco Louis Duc de Montvillier to appear before me at 10 o'clock in the forenoon of the 28th day of October, 1907."
"The twenty-eighth!" gasped Hank, "to-day's the twentieth, the boat has sailed – "
He heard Tanneur's laugh, harsh and triumphant.
"The Ironic doesn't call at Queenstown," he said and laughed again.
"No, but the German boat will be passing through the Straits of Dover in two hours' time," said the Duke.
XII
Outside in the vestibule the Duke looked at his watch. It was ten minutes past nine.
The girl by his side was quiet, but her eyes never left his face.
"I'm going to do it," he said grimly. He looked at her and of a sudden took her face between his hands and kissed her.
"You're worth it," he said simply.
St. John's station was ten minutes walk from the hall.
The three (for Hank led the way) reached there in five. The station inspector was on the platform, a courteous man with a cheerful eye and a short grey beard. Hank was to the point.
"I want you to flag the Continental," he said.
"That's an Americanism, isn't it," smiled the inspector. "You want me to put the signal against the Continental Mail." Hank nodded.
"I won't say it cannot be done," said the inspector, "but there will have to be a very urgent reason."
"That," said the admiring Hank, "is the kind of talk I like to hear;" and he told the official the whole story. The inspector nodded. "Next platform," he said shortly and ran for the signal box.
As they reached the platform the green light that gave "road clear" to the Continental swung up to red.
"Here's all the money I have," said Hank quickly: he emptied his pockets into the Duke's hands. "I'll get the Dover 'phone busy, charter a tug – you'll have to take your chance about the boat. She'll pull up if you signal her. I'll send you some money by wireless – here she comes."
She came – the noisy Continental reluctantly slowing down, steaming and snorting and whistling at the indignity.
The Duke bustled in, the starting signal fell…
"Look after the house!" shouted the Duke from the window. The train was on the move, when a man came flying down the steps.
"Stop you!" yelled Hank.
"Bang! bang! bang!.."
A group of porters surrounded the recumbent figure of Mr. Bill Slewer of Four Ways, who lay with a bullet in his leg cursing in a strange language.
Bill's revolver had fallen on to the metals, but Hank's slim Smith-Wesson hung in his hand still smoking.
"You must do the 'phoning," he said to the white-faced girl. "I shall have to stay and explain away William."
In the meantime the tail-lights of the Continental had disappeared round the curve.
Part III
THE DUKE RETURNS
I
Sir Harry Tanneur stood with his back to the library fire, in a disconsolate mood.
An industrious authority on heraldry had that morning rendered the report of a great discovery which at any other time would have filled the heart of the knight with joy, namely the connexion of the house of Tanneur with the Kings of France through Louis de Tendour and the Auvegian Capels.
There was little consolation in the Lilies of France, and meagre satisfaction to be derived from the "bloody hand en fesse on a field fretty." Sir Harry's mind was occupied with the contents of a letter which had arrived by the same post as the herald's report. It was brief and to the point.
DEAR SIR, —
We have to inform you that the court has upheld the Duke of Montvillier's title to the ownership of the Silver Streak Mine, and we are instructed that an appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States would in the light of recent happenings be unadvisable. The Duke who unexpectedly arrived at New York on board the Kron Prinz Olaf, is returning to Europe immediately.
Awaiting your favour,
We are, etc.
He read the letter again and was extremely vexed.
In contrast to his own cloudy visage, the face of Mr. Hal Tanneur who burst in upon him was radiant.
"We've got it, governor," he chuckled and waved a paper. "Saw old Middleton – "
"What, what, what?" snapped his parent.
"64 – all that desirable property," quoted the young man. "Old Middleton was a bit shy of parting. Said the Duke promised to be a useful tenant. I offered £800, wouldn't take it, offered £900, wouldn't look at it, got it for £1,050."
"Good boy," commended his father, and grew more cheerful. "At any rate," he said, "we can clear this bounder out of the neighbourhood: what about Alicia?"
Hal frowned terribly.
"I've done my best to show her what a silly step she's taking. Had a little talk with her – "
"Tact – I hope you used tact. Tact is everything in business," warned Sir Harry.
"Rather!" said the other complacently, "I think I know a little about handling women. I got her on her tenderest side. I pointed out people would say she was marrying for a title, showed her how these mixed marriages never turned out well. As I said, 'My dear Alicia, you know nothing absolutely about this chap except what he tells you himself, the chances are that he's married already.'"
"That was right," approved his father.
"I said, 'You don't even know that he's a Duke – his name's in De Gotha, I grant you, but how do you know he's the man?'"
"What did she say?" demanded Sir Harry.
Hal shrugged his shoulders despairingly.
"She talked – like a woman," he said, with the air of one given to the coining of epigrams. "In so many words told me to mind my own business – in fact, governor, told me to go to the devil."
"Good heavens!" said the scandalized knight.
"Well," modified his son, "she didn't exactly say so, but that was the impression she gave me."
Sir Harry clicked his lips impatiently.
"This is gratitude!" he said bitterly. "After what I've done – " He paused to recollect his acts of beneficence, failed to recall any remarkable feat of generosity on his part, coughed, frowned, and repeated with increased bitterness – "Gratitude, bah!" He relapsed into gloomy silence, then reached out his hand for the document Hal had flourished.
"But this shall end," he said with splendid calmness; "we will bundle out this dam – confounded American Duke and his cowboy friend, bag and baggage. Smith shall serve him with a notice – has he paid his rent?"
"No," shouted Hal gleefully, "it was due the day he left for America and the Yankee person has overlooked it apparently."
Sir Harry nodded.
"Hal, my boy," he said lowering his voice, "how much money in solid cash do you think this wretched man has cost me?" The importance in his father's tone impressed the young man.
"A million?" he hazarded.
Sir Harry was annoyed, with the annoyance of a bargain hunter whose purchase is undervalued by an appraising friend.
"Don't be a fool!" he begged, "a million! Do you think I could sit down and tamely submit to the loss of a million? No – "
Hal made another guess.
"A thousand?"
"Sixty thousand," said his father impressively, "sixty thousand pounds or three hundred thousand dollars!"
Hal whistled.
"Absolutely taken out of my pocket, just as though the scoundrel had broken in to 'Hydeholme' and stolen it!" Sir Harry did not think it necessary to explain that the sum in question was the Duke's lawful property, and that his crime had consisted in establishing his legal claim to it.
"I need hardly say," Sir Harry went on "that if Alicia marries this person, it will be without my approval. Indeed I must seriously consider the question of altering the terms of my will." He said this very gravely.
"Were you leaving her much, governor?"
Sir Harry coughed.
"It is not so much a question of actual value as the thought behind the legacy," he explained; "one should not measure love by the standard of value received, but by the sentiment which inspires the gift – I have often regretted," he added thoughtfully, "that the practise of bequeathing mourning rings has gone out of fashion – they were inexpensive but effective."
Hal yawned.
"What about this Duke feller?" he demanded.
Sir Harry pursed his lips.
"He is on his way back – arrives at Liverpool to-morrow. Out first business is to clear him out of Brockley. To make the place too hot to hold him. He has chosen to match his wits against mine, to range himself with my – er – opponents. He shall discover that I am not to be despised."
There was something very complacent in Sir Harry's review of the situation that aroused the admiration of his son.
"He'll find you're a bit of a nut to crack, governor," he said.
Sir Harry smiled not ill-pleased with the implied compliment.
"If you will sit down, Hal, I will outline my plan of campaign."
Hal sat down.
II
The Lewisham and Lee Mail with which is incorporated the Catford Advertiser– to give the newspaper its fullest title – is a journal well worthy of perusal. You may think, you superior folk who are connected with Fleet Street journalism, that outside of high politics, wars and sensational divorce cases, nothing interests the general reader – but you are mistaken.
There is a column in the Lewisham and Lee Mail sapiently headed "On Dit" and wittily signed "I Noe" (which really is a subtle play on the words "I know" and as such, distinctly clever).
I give you a clipping and reproduce it as nearly as possible in facsimile.
ON DIT
That Miss Cecilia Downs took the first prize at St. John's Chrysanthemum Show. We heartily congratulate the young lady.
* * *
That there was a scene at the Borough Council Meeting when Councillor Hogg demanded particulars about the paving contract. Why wash dirty linen in public?
* * *
Go to Storey's for your boots: a grand new stock.
* * *
That our distinguished neighbour the Duc de Montvillier is returning from America next week. What an acquisition he would be to the Borough Council!!
* * *
When is the Council going to take up the question of the lighting of Tabar Street?
At present the road is a positive disgrace to civilization.
* * *
Compare Storey's prices with elsewhere!
Boys' School Boots a speciality – never wear out!
* * *
Mr. Roderick Nape read a paper before the Broadway Literary Society on Saturday entitled "Criminals I have Met." It was enthusiastically received.
* * *
James Toms, described as a labourer, was charged at Greenwich with stealing an overcoat, the property of Mr. J. B. Sands, of Tressillian Crescent – three months.
* * *
Dancing shoes from 2s. 11d. Goloshes for the wet weather from 1s. 11d. Storey's for fair prices and civility.
This is the briefest extract, the merest glimpse of the moving pageant that fills the suburban stage. It leaves much to the imagination – the elation of Mr. Nape, the enthusiasm of his audience, the tragedy of James Toms, described as a labourer, and his downfall.
If the truth be told, the minor happenings of life are of infinite interest to the people who are responsible for the happenings. Councillor A. Smith who makes a speech on the new drainage system, is considerably more interested in his brief quarter of a column than would be Mr. A. J. Balfour under similar circumstances.
If I have a fault to find with local journalism, it is that it is far too reticent regarding the personal side of its news. For instance "I Noe" duly reported that Sir Henry Tanneur, "our respected prospective member," had acquired large freehold interests in the neighbourhood, but he failed most ignobly to record the fact that No. 64 Kymott Crescent and all that messuage, had been bought by Sir Harry in the Duke's absence, and that Sir Harry's agent had served Hank with a notice to quit.
Hank, occupying the garden step ladder in the unavoidable absence of the Duke, found a sympathetic audience in the girl next door.
"I think uncle has behaved disgracefully!" she said shortly, "I have never heard of anything so paltry, so intensely and disagreeably mean, it is petty – "
Hank was very solemn and very cautious.
"It's a mighty serious business ejecting a duke," he said. "I sent Cole down to the free library to get a book on the feudal customs, and I've just read that old book from startin' gate to judges' wire, and there's nothin' doin' about firin' dukes – or duchesses," he added.
Alicia changed the subject with incoherent rapidity.
"What will you do?" she asked hastily.
"Do?" Hank's eyebrows rose at the preposterous question. "Do? Why I guess we'll just stay on."
"But my uncle will serve you with a writ of ejectment," she persisted.
Hank shook his head.
"I don't know her," he confessed, "but she must be geared up to shift the Duke. She must be well oiled an' run on ball bearin's, an' be triple expansion 'fore an' aft to make him budge. And if she misses fire once, it's down and out for hers. I don't know any writ of ejectment that was ever cast, that could lift the Duke when he was once planted."
Hank shook his head with an air of finality.
"Our new landlord ought to be warned," he said. "Some one ought to tell him. It ain't fair – he doesn't know Dukey."
A bright thought struck him.
"I'll warn him," he said and grew cheerful at the prospect.
III
"D'ye see, Hal?"
It was in the middle of the fourth conference between father and son, and Sir Harry had triumphantly rounded off his plan when Hank was announced.
The two men exchanged glances.
"Surrendered without firing a shot," murmured Sir Harry. "Show the gentleman in, William."
Hank came into the library and found two grave gentlemen bent over a gorgeously illuminated coat of arms.
Sir Harry looked up with a start when Hank was ushered in, and offered him his hand with a smile of patient weariness.
"Won't you sit down!" he said politely. "I'm afraid our task is an unfamiliar one to you, an American. There is some dispute as to whether the Tanneurs of the fourteenth century are related through a cadet branch of the Howards – but heraldry would bore you?"
Hank's face was impassive.
"No, sir," he replied calmly. "I knew a feller down in Montana, a fat little fellow named Sank, that made a pile out of sheer carefulness – he never came in under a pair an' never bet under a straight flush – who got that bug in his sombrero. Paid a man down in New York 5,000 dollars to worry out a choice assortment of ancestors. Got way back to William the Conqueror an' might easily have fetched up at Noah, only one night he knocked up against little Si Morris sittin' pat with four aces. Si drew one an' Sank put him with two pairs – that's where Sanky went into liquidation."
Sir Harry bristled.
"You wish to see me about something?" he said coldly.
Hank nodded.
"This notice to quit," he said; "what's the idea?"
"That is a matter that I cannot discuss." Sir Harry had an admirable manner for this sort of contest. It was an adaptation of his board-room method, "Gentlemen, if you please we will proceed with the agenda;" an icy interposition that had so often chilled the inquisitive shareholder.
"Of course," Hank went on, "I don't exactly know what the Duke will say – but I can guess."
"What the Duke says," said Sir Harry loftily, "will not affect my plans."
"I should imagine, though," said Hank thoughtfully, "that he won't take much notice of your notice."
"What!" said Sir Harry, "take no notice – good heavens, sir, are you aware that there's a law in this country?"
"There is a rumour to that effect," said the American cautiously, "but I reckon that a little thing like that won't worry him – you see he's a Duke."
The awe in his voice impressed even Sir Harry.
"Duke? Duke! Rubbish! Bosh! Nonsense! Duke?" snapped Sir Harry. "We don't share your worship of titles, sir. What is a title? A mere handle, a useless appendage, a – "
Then he recollected.
"Of course," he qualified, "there are titles – er – to which respect is due; titles – er – bestowed by a grateful country upon its – um – public men, philanthropists, et cetera; upon citizens who have identified themselves with – er – national movements – "
