Lawrence slept for hours. When at last he awoke he saw that they were
circling above a large city bright with flags and bunting.
"Getting dolled up for the Prince's coming-out party," Hank said as he
leaned far over and levelled the glasses on the brilliant broad streets
below. Throngs of people passed to and fro, and one and all stared
upward at the dirigible as it came slowly downward. Not until they had
located a beautiful villa nestling among the trees of a vast park on the
outskirts of the city did Mr. Ridgeway give the order to descend. A mile
from the villa there was a large aviation field and there they landed. A
delegation approached composed entirely of admirals, or so it seemed to
Hank and Bill and Lawrence, so loaded with gold braid were they and so
overtopped with plumes.
Mr. Ridgeway showed no nervousness at all and entered a big automobile,
while Hank and Bill lifted in the big hyolax case and sat themselves
down on either side of it as a sort of guard. They were still in their
aviation clothes, which Mr. Ridgeway said would be considered a uniform.
As they started off, another company of admirals deployed around a
corner, overtook them on the run, and trotted along on all sides of the
car, which was forced to proceed at a crawl. Sitting on the back seat
with Lawrence, Mr. Ridgeway looked stern enough to quell any number of
admirals. The bandage under his hat was commented on frequently in a
tongue the boys had never before heard. It was a short ride to the gates
of the great park, and there another automobile was waiting, with
another guard. These seemed to be the "pick of the whole b'ilin'," as
Hank said, for the admirals were in pale blue uniforms and were a head
taller than the others.
Here Mr. Ridgeway, after seeing that the cylinder was placed on the seat
in front of him, took out his automatic and rested it across his knees.
The boys were to wait for him at the gates. A number of the pale-blue
soldiers mounted the running boards and hung on behind; the others
closed in on either side and the car moved slowly out of sight, while
the guardian closed the center leaves of the gates, leaving only a
smaller gate open at either side.
Hank leaned back and sighed.
"Well, _don't_ that beat you?" he said. "Wish we could go up and see
what the queen looks like. I bet she is nifty lookin'. Nuthin' to do but
load on the jewelry, and try on crowns.
"We have had some awful democratic, commonplace kings and queens back in
Washington last few years, but I bet that's all put on. They want to put
it over on us; make a hit with the unions and all that when they come
visitin'; but I bet when they are home it's different. Now that prince
the party is for: it's his coming-of-age party, Mr. Ridgeway said."
"Yes, but even that is different," said Bill. "Mr. Ridgeway told me the
heir to the throne here in this country is of age when he is fifteen.
That's so if anything should happen to the king, the boy could go right
to kinging it without any lawyers having to be hired to make out
papers."
"Fifteen, eh?" mused Hank. "I'd like to see him now. I seen a picture in
the Corcoran Art Gallery. It was named _The Young Prince_. He was all of
that, I will say; with a long blanket like around him, and ribbons on
his golf pants and a hat all feathers."
"Oh, you make me tired!" said Bill. "I seen that pitcher myself. That
guy was born way back--back before the Cuban war."
A violent discussion seemed started, but a diversion was made by the
sudden appearance of a bareheaded lad on a shabby bicycle. He came
tearing through the small gate, saw the automobile drawn up at the side
of the road in the shade, checked his pace, and with a shake of the head
as though asking for silence, he dismounted, threw his wheel into the
tall grass, and running around the car, lay down along the running
board. So rapidly had he acted that no one had had time to speak, and
immediately another bicyclist trundled through the gate. This time it
was a ruddy-faced, middle-aged man with a couple of books strapped over
his shoulder, a butterfly net across his chest, and a tin box rattling
on his hip. He rode like a man in a hurry, gave one uninterested glance
at the occupants of the auto, and rattled on, gazing earnestly down the
dusty road.
The boy at once sat up.
"Thanks!" he said in a pleasant voice, and with very little accent.
"That was a close shave. If I had had to catch another butterfly today I
should have exploded. He will ride ten miles or so looking for me!" He
chuckled wickedly.
"What do _you_ have to learn about butterflies for? You are no girl!"
said Hank scornfully.
"That's what _I_ say," said the boy, smiling cheerfully at Lawrence.
"They don't stick you with that sort of stuff in England. My people sent
me over there to school for awhile, and it was great. Are you English?"
he asked Lawrence.
"American," answered Lawrence.
"Better yet!" said the boy. "Not that England isn't all right, but they
say America is so big and so roomy and a fellow can do as he pleases."
"Not much he can't," said Hank bitterly. "I never seen anything like it.
It's 'don't step on the grass,' and 'don't pick the flowers,' and 'don't
tease the animals,' and 'don't chip a piece of this here house for a
sooveneer.' Don't, don't, don't every way a feller turns!"
The boy looked surprised.
"Why should anyone _want_ to tease the animals or chip pieces off the
houses?" he asked.
"They don't," replied Hank. "At least they don't 'til some smart Aleck
sticks up a sign and puts it into their heads. And then of course they
gotter."
"Oh, well," said the boy, "there are lots of other things you can do
that you can't do here."
"Not much, I bet," said Hank, but Bill interrupted.
"Don't be forever kickin' on your home town," he said. "It does rub me
the wrong way. You are a regular Bullsheevikky."
"They ain't any more of them," said Hank triumphantly.
"What is your name?" asked the boy of Lawrence.
"Lawrence Petit," said Lawrence. "What is yours?"
"Modo," said the boy.
"Sounds like a girl," said Hank, "but I will say you don't look the
part. I should say you look like a real honest-to-goodness feller."
"I am glad of that," said the boy simply. "Names don't mean much."
"Not sometimes," replied Hank. "I bet the young Prince in there don't
answer to anything simple as that Modo. I bet he has a name long as your
arm, even just with his own folks."
"He means the one that's going to have the party," explained Bill.
"Oh, the crown prince!" said the boy, rumpling up his black hair. "He
has a lot of names. Seven, I think."
"Whee!" said Hank. "Think of that! Every time his mother calls him,
calling like John-Henry-George-Washington-Christopher-Columbus-James."
The boy laughed until he cried. "I don't believe they use them all at
once," he said. Then he turned to Lawrence. "If you are an American, you
know all about football, don't you?" he said. "The boys here don't know
how to play it, and I am crazy to start a team. The English game is not
like the American at all, they say."
Lawrence hopped out of the car, eager to talk on his favorite subject,
for next to flying he loved football. Together the boys wandered down
the slope, and sitting at the foot of a tree with their knees drawn up,
they chewed grass roots while they discussed the great American game.
After awhile they returned to the car and sat on the running-board while
Lawrence wrote his address for Modo, who was going to write to him for
some books on the subject. Hank and Bill, smoking lazily in the car,
leaned over with words of advice.
They had been sitting there only a few minutes when another bicyclist
rolled through the small gate. This time the rider was in the uniform of
a house servant, impressive with silk stockings and much gold lace. He
spied Modo, and with an abrupt motion stopped his wheel and dismounted
with a low bow.
"Your Highness, Her Majesty desires your attendance," he remarked to the
boy impressively, bowed again and, backing off a pace, mounted his wheel
and went back through the gate.
"Mother is all fussed up about this party," said Modo smiling. "And I
suppose she wants to drill me in something. It is an awful nuisance." He
looked at Hank and laughed. "I hope you don't mind," he said. "And they
_don't_ call me all seven names every time!" He waved a merry good-bye
to the petrified airmen, shook hands with Lawrence, and promising to
write soon, ran off, trundling his wheel.
"Somebody pinch me!" begged Hank, after a long pause. "_Your Highness_
and me joshing him about his name, and all that!"
"A real boy!" ejaculated Bill.
"Yes, sir! Nuthin' but a _real boy_! Kind you see anywhere. And the
crown prince! 'Mother is all fussed up' says he. Well, I am in mother's
class on that! Say, he's dropped his pencil! I'm goin' to keep it. Gosh,
this will make talk back home. 'One morning in Morania,' says I, 'me and
Modo was talkin'.' 'Modo who?' says somebody, and I says, 'Why, you nut,
don't you study hist'ry? I mean His Highness the Crown Prince Modo of
Morania!' And then I'll flash this pencil with a crown printed on the
side of it. Wow!"
"Well, thank goodness we come!" said Bill. "Now you have something to
gas about besides accidents and murders."
"You bet!" said Hank, and fell silent.
A moment later Modo came hurrying through the gate on his wheel. He
dismounted, and flashing his bright and friendly smile mounted the
running-board of the car.
"They are going to make a big fuss over my birthday," he said, "and some
medals have been struck off to commemorate it. I thought you might each
like one since you won't be here to the party. I am to give them out and
pin them on myself." He fastened glittering medals on Lawrence, Bill and
Hank as he spoke.
"There!" he said. "Don't forget me! Good-bye! It was great fun to be
just a boy. Good-bye, Lawrence! Don't you forget to write and send me
all the football news!"
He mounted his wheel and disappeared for the last time.
"And they says," murmured Hank, "they says 'Whatcher got on?' and I
says, 'Where?' and they says, 'Why, that breas'pin!' and I says, 'Oh, a
little decoration the Crown Prince of Morania gimme.' Big stuff, eh?" he
prodded Bill gaily.
"These are beauties all the same," said Lawrence, "and here comes Mr.
Ridgeway."
Talking in "close formation," as you might say, they displayed their
medals and recounted their incident. Mr. Ridgeway also had a medal, and
another decoration as well: a broad purple ribbon with a gold Greek
Cross blazing with jewels. It was to signify that he had been made a
member of the Order of the Crown. "For bringing back the jewels," he
explained, laughing.
"When do we start home, Mr. Ridgeway?" asked Hank.
"Do you men want to look around the city for an hour or so?"
"I don't," said Hank. "I seen it from above, and there's no use wasting
time."
"All right then; we will go back to the dirigible and start for our
little baby republic. I should have made that my first errand, but this
saves a few hundred miles, and I want to get to England as soon as I
can."
As they rolled along toward the aviation field, Mr. Ridgeway outlined
their plans.
He was anxious for a rest. After visiting the President of the new
republic, he wanted Hank and Bill to drop Lawrence and himself down at
the country house where Mrs. Ridgeway was staying. There they would stop
until the dirigible was in order. Then one of them could report and Mr.
Ridgeway would motor over to the plane and look it over. They could then
divide, and take the ships back to the United States.
"You may like to stay and return with Mrs. Ridgeway and myself," he
said, turning to Lawrence.
The boy shook his head.
"I must go back, sir. I have something very important to do."
"You won't think so after you get acquainted with Mrs. Ridgeway," said
Mr. Ridgeway. "Everyone is crazy over her, and she likes boys."
"I would like to stay," said Lawrence, "but it seems as if the business
just couldn't wait a day."
"Well, we will talk it over later," said Mr. Ridgeway. "Perhaps I can
help you. At all events, I will take you with me until the dirigible is
mended. It will not be a long job. I hope O'Brien is feeling well. He
must have been stiff and sore after that bout. We will have a lot to
tell Mrs. Ridgeway."
They got the dirigible up safely and sailed off in the direction of the
young republic, Bill declaring that hobnobbing with royalty had utterly
ruined Hank as a machinist.
Four hours later they had reached their destination and were once more
waiting for Mr. Ridgeway to get through the complicated ceremonies of
meeting the heads of the new nation. Messengers raced here and there,
telephones buzzed, lights flashed up in the state hall, and finally
while Lawrence and the others dozed in the lobby of the nearest hotel,
the President and Cabinet indicated their readiness to receive the
messenger from the big republic across the sea.
An hour later, when Mr. Ridgeway saw that the meeting was to be a long
one, apparently to impress him, he telephoned to the patient waiters to
have supper. They obeyed with great cheer and then settled themselves
for another long wait.
When Mr. Ridgeway finally appeared it was so late and his bruised head
was throbbing so that Lawrence suggested spending the night there.
Hank and Bill went back to the dirigible, and Mr. Ridgeway secured a
large room with twin beds for himself and Lawrence. It was a comfortable
novelty to find themselves between clean sheets again, and they were
almost too comfortable to go to sleep immediately.
So they talked awhile, of the fight, and Van Arsdale, and the jewels,
and the journey, and its pleasant ending, and a hundred times Lawrence
started to tell Mr. Ridgeway about himself and stopped. More and more
the feeling had come that perhaps there was nothing in it after all, and
in that case he decided that no one should ever guess what high hopes
had filled him, or what black disappointment had followed.