Читать книгу His Royal Happiness - Sara Jeannette Duncan - Страница 8

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For the celebration of such a function as the President’s ball it was as necessary as ever to turn to the newspapers, especially to the newspapers of New York; and the metropolitan press certainly rewarded attention the day after the event, so clever it was, and so imaginative. The whole world danced in it up and down close printed columns, the whole uninvited world that had a nickel to pay. The names of the guests were there in starry rows. The uninvited world hailed them as representative and revelled in their clothes. But the chief glorying was in the uniform of Prince Alfred.

“That once American green, those buttons under which once beat American hearts as true as his to the island throne and the gray old mother over seas.”

Nothing was lost of the princely compliment; the Republic smiled to it from north to south; Life had a charming cartoon. There were columns about the history and exploits of the regiment, and Prince Alfred was assured that he would never lose the name or the distinction of being the first Royal American since ’76.

“Sentimentally,” said the Evening Post, “we are enchanted, and politically we can stand it, since there is at present only one.” The little tribute was taken in the highest spirits, but it would be foolish to suppose that the jest carried all. Pages turned back and eyes followed them, to the old quiet century before the great era of splendid assertion. Family records were looked up, old miniatures produced. Boston talked of a colonial pageant in honor of the Prince.

“So far as I can make out,” said Colonel Vandeleur, sorting letters and telegrams next morning in the sitting-room of their suite, “there are exactly thirteen applications from illustrated papers for your photograph in that kit of yours last night, my dear boy. As well as four intimations of public functions at which you are invited to appear wearing it.”

“There is also a cable from the Duchess of Altenburg,” said Prince Alfred, “suggesting that I should send it home. I gather John R. has been making remarks. My aunt adds ‘Await press comments with deepest apprehension.’ She must have been upset, to put in that unnecessary ‘with.’ I think I will send it home, Vandy. There’s a post to-day. That will gratify my aunt and dispose of the photographs.”

Colonel Vandeleur opened another envelope and glanced at its contents with a longer face.

“Cipher,” he said, “F. O. I thought I should hear from ’em.” He unlocked a despatch-box and took out a small code book. “Gad—I hope it isn’t a recall. Really, dear chap, I don’t know what induced you to do it.”

“I wanted to look well dressed,” Prince Alfred told him, “in the eyes of my hosts. The Foreign Office be blowed. And I warn you straight, Vandy, if it is a recall, I don’t propose to go.”

Colonel Vandeleur looked rather blankly at his charge, whose tone of determination certainly gave a gentleman-in-waiting to think. It was not a recall when they made it out, but it was a very plain admonition. Prince Alfred considered it with a sharp line between his brows, and a lower lip that looked more irritated than impressed.

“That’s the kind of ridiculous and unnecessary quacking that goes on the year round,” he said. “But it’s the first time I’ve had my kit interfered with. Wire back and tell ’em I consider my clothes my own.”

He spoke, of course, like a high-spirited youth checked in an uncomfortable and impressive way for an initiative in which he had taken pleasure and pride; and Vandy did not interpret his words as instructions. He had also been warned that his Prince was incorrigibly impatient of control, easily angered by too obvious restraint, and subject in such connection to a peculiarly durable sulkiness in which he was difficult to manage. His winning smile would fly, and he would simply turn to authority a very cold shoulder. Colonel Vandeleur was never to forget that what his present task most demanded was tact. Fortunately tact was the very thing that the Colonel had most in reserve. He produced a little of it now.

“I agree with you that it had better go back,” he said. “On the simple ground that you won’t want it after this. Of course I understand their attitude in a way; but the trouble is they don’t in the least realize how little a thing like that really counts on this side——”

“Silly asses.”

“As you say it was liked and appreciated, very much liked and appreciated—but as to attaching any serious importance to a thing like that—it’s only Europe, you know, that would.”

At that moment Prince Alfred’s valet passed, like an efficient shadow, to the door of his master’s bedroom, a clothes-brush in his hand, the green uniform over his arm.

“Catkin,” said the Prince, “the Auretania starts back to-morrow—I saw it in the papers. Put that kit on board. And look here Catkin—you are to go with it—understand? To take charge of it. You’ve been invaluable, Catkin, so far, but now I am going to look after myself for a bit, and you won’t be sorry for a holiday. So hop it, Catkin.”

The man stood dumbfounded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Yes, sir,” and looked at Colonel Vandeleur, who had risen and stood braced, as it seemed, before the emergency of his life.

“My dear fellow,” he said firmly. “You simply cannot do without Catkin. You may take it from me. In this country above all others, where you—where a man may any day be expected to black his own boots——”

“I was taught to black my own boots and other useful things when I was ten,” said Prince Alfred, “and I am rather glad to be in a place where I may be expected to black ’em again. I bet you ten bob, Vandy, I do a better shine than you do.”

It was certainly a way of paying them back for their telegrams, especially, perhaps, Aunt Georgina. Prince Alfred’s good humor was completely restored. He was pacing the room now, his hands in his trousers pockets, with a gay and enterprising face from which the shadows had been chased by an imaginary blacking-brush.

“I’ve no doubt you would,” said Colonel Vandeleur unhappily, “but dash it all, Prince, do consider what will be said when you are seen absolutely unattended——”

“My dear Vandy, I’ve got you,” exclaimed Prince Alfred, royally disconcerting. “You will save my life and take care of my money, you know you will, and what more do I want?” He looked radiant, and the line of his chin in profile was extremely distinct.

“Oh, sir,” implored the faithful Catkin, “if I might make the suggestion, who, sir, will see that the washing comes back correct?”

Colonel Vandeleur abandoned tact.

“I’m afraid the King will be seriously annoyed,” he said. “He only consented——”

“John’s annoyance,” said Prince Alfred firmly, “is the everlasting bane of my life. Who the devil—I mean, if John is annoyed at a silly thing like that, he isn’t—Will you clear out, Catkin, and do as you’re told?”

It is probable that Colonel Vandeleur, C.B., never offered to this pleasant world a more disgusted countenance.

“Then—may Catkin get hold of my fellow?” he said.

“Certainly—why?”

“If Catkin goes, I hardly see myself keeping Briggs.”

“Oh. No—of course. You mean you don’t want to make the impression of effeminate luxury over here any more than I do. I think we’re both right, Vandy—let ’em go together. They’ll hold each other’s basins.”

“That’s settled then.” It was now Colonel Vandeleur whose face assumed, as he continued to dispose of letters, the shadow of gloom. Prince Alfred, with his hands in his pockets, looked out upon the President’s garden, and whistled, much out of tune but with enjoyment, the air the American microbe, industrious within, stimulated his lips to form. The door closed upon Catkin, and as it did there was a little thud upon the floor and a round, dark object rolled out into the room. Prince Alfred picked it up—a regimental button.

“Off my tunic,” he said, “I noticed it was dicky last night. Old Catkin has brushed it loose. I won’t give it to him now—he’s upset enough as it is,” and he slipped the button into his pocket.

Colonel Vandeleur, gnawing his mustache, emitted an indistinct “Haw,” in reply. He was looking out trains for the two servants, writing checks, and remembering the necessity for tact.

“They’ll only just do it,” he said. “I can’t understand the reason for the tremendous hurry, Prince. There’s a Cunarder every week, thank Heaven.”

“You forget the Duchess of Altenburg’s telegram, Colonel. I am afraid she would be seriously annoyed if I did not obey at once. And I never was in such a hurry in my life as I am to get rid of Catkin.”

Colonel Vandeleur permitted himself to smile. “Have it your own way,” he said, and thought of something pleasanter. “Well, we saw some very fair specimens of the American rose last night. On the whole we can report favorably to the President.”

“Report,” said Alfred frowning. The word seemed ill chosen. “Will he expect a report?”

“Perhaps we’d better make it an anthem.”

Do what he would the Colonel could not express himself in his usual happy manner. Below his smile Briggs undisguisedly rankled.

Prince Alfred again squared his back to the room and looked out of the window.

“I take it,” went on Colonel Vandy, “that the little Lanchester lady—do you remember her?—is almost a daughter of the house. I would give her last night’s honors, myself. Something so fresh about her. Stands up on her stem. Girls run far too much to the tea-rose variety over here, in my opinion.”

“I do remember her,” replied Alfred, with a glance of cool displeasure. “But why ‘little’? Quite the reverse, I should say.”

Vandy, aware that he had blundered, hastened to make amends.

“Delightfully intelligent anyway” he went on, in another tone, “I was fortunate enough to take her in to supper. Rotten luck,” he observed with detachment, “that your fate on these occasions should always be the oldest and the ugliest.”

“I did well enough last night,” Prince Alfred contended. “Mrs. Phipps isn’t old, and she is rather pretty than otherwise. And I’m very fond of her. She tells me lots of things.”

“I heard a good deal that was new to me myself, last night,” replied Vandy, “mostly about you, dear boy. I hadn’t guessed half your splendid qualities, it seemed. Fearfully excited my young lady was, about that Yankee kit of yours. Upon my word at one moment I thought she was going to burst into tears. These American girls are all rather inclined to be sentimental. Cold, you know, for all that.”

“The Imperial never was a Yankee kit. If it had been, I couldn’t have worn it,” Prince Alfred told him. “But—did it really interest her? She didn’t say anything about it to me. We—we discussed mutual friends.”

Colonel Vandy had never in all his life flattered so successfully. The young man’s eyes had brightened, and his head was up.

“Well, she hardly would, you know. Mutual—Really?”

“Yes, I say, Vandy,” he turned round sharply. “How much longer have we got here? Three days? She’s a sort of god-cousin of mine you know. I’d like her asked to stay. Couldn’t you arrange it?”

Colonel Vandeleur dropped his fountain pen and stared for an instant, hard. Before the steadiness of the look that returned his, a certain amusement in his eye sheathed itself.

“Charmin’ addition to the party,” he said, “but whether it’s possible——At home, of course, as easy as winkin’. But over here—you never can tell. However, if you find her amusing, I’ll have a shot at it.”

“I don’t find her amusing,” replied Prince Alfred, again giving his attention to the grounds of the White House, “if you mean larky, or comic. I’d like to know her better, that’s all. I wish you would go and see about it now, Vandy.”