"Say, for the love of Mike, are you really a lord—honest to God?"
"Right-oh!" came the cheerful reply.
"One of those guys who wear silly little crowns and a whole lot of purple velvet and white fur?" pursued Tom, remembering what he had learned in the movie theaters of Spokane.
"Right-oh again!" Then, seeing that Tom was studying him intensely: "I say, what's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing!" Tom scratched his head. "But I always thought—have always been given to understand that all lords are. . . Oh. . ."
"Silly, damned jackasses? Right-oh, the third time! I am one. You have no idea what a silly ass I am—and wait till you meet my first brother, the Duke! Gad! And now, s'pose we go down and see what the maritime Ganymede has to offer in the line of mixed drinks."
Half an hour later, sampling the third of a series of cocktails, "there are three things I admired most tremendously in America," Vyvyan confided: "Your way of preparing oysters, your way of mixing drinks, and the way your women clothe their jolly little tootsies." Tom Graves had already formed a sincere liking for the young Englishman, and it was evident that the latter returned the feeling.
For, with frank and talkative naïveté, he had told the American all about himself.
"I'm in disgrace," he said; "that's why I am tryin' to perk up a bit alcoholically."
"In disgrace?"
"Right, You see, I am a diplomatist."
"You—a diplomatist?"? Tom laughed at the thought.
