The Prince and Betty

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER IV

  VIVE LE ROI!

  When, an hour later, John landed in New York from the ferry, his moodhad changed. The sun and the breeze had done their work. He looked onlife once more with a cheerful and optimistic eye.

  His first act, on landing, was to proceed to the office of the_News_ and enquire for Rupert Smith. He felt that he had urgentneed of a few minutes' conversation with him. Now that the painter hadbeen definitely cut that bound him to the safe and conventional, and hehad set out on his own account to lead the life adventurous, he wasconscious of an absurd diffidence. New York looked different to him. Itmade him feel positively shy. A pressing need for a friendly native inthis strange land manifested itself. Smith would have ideas and adviceto bestow--he was notoriously prolific of both--and in this crisis bothwere highly necessary.

  Smith, however, was not at the office. He had gone out, John wasinformed, earlier in the morning to cover a threatened strike somewheredown on the East Side. John did not go in search of him. The chance offinding him in that maze of mean streets was remote. He decided to gouptown, select a hotel, and lunch. To the need for lunch he attributeda certain sinking sensation of which he was becoming more and moreaware, and which bore much too close a resemblance to dismay to bepleasant. The poet's statement that "the man who's square, his chancesalways are best; no circumstance can shoot a scare into the contents ofhis vest," is only true within limits. The squarest men, depositedsuddenly in New York and faced with the prospect of earning his livingthere, is likely to quail for a moment. New York is not like othercities. London greets the stranger with a sleepy grunt. Paris giggles.New York howls. A gladiator, waiting in the center of the arena whilethe Colosseum officials fumbled with the bolts of the door behind whichpaced the noisy tiger he was to fight, must have had some of theemotions which John experienced during his first hour as a masterlessman in Gotham.

  A surface car carried him up Broadway. At Times Square the Astor Hotelloomed up on the left. It looked a pretty good hotel to John. Hedismounted.

  Half an hour later he decided that he was acclimated. He had secured abase of operations in the shape of a room on the seventh floor, hischeck was safely deposited in the hotel bank, and he was half-waythrough a lunch which had caused him already to look on New York notonly as the finest city in the world, but also, on the whole, as theone city of all others in which a young man might make a fortune withthe maximum of speed and the minimum of effort.

  After lunch, having telegraphed his address to his uncle in case ofmail, he took the latter's excellent advice and went to the pologrounds. Returning in time to dress, he dined at the hotel, after whichhe visited a near-by theater, and completed a pleasant and strenuousday at one of those friendly restaurants where the music is continuousand the waiters are apt to burst into song in the intervals of theirother duties.

  A second attempt to find Smith next morning failed, as the first haddone. The staff of the News were out of bed and at work ridiculouslyearly, and when John called up the office between eleven and twelveo'clock--nature's breakfast-hour--Smith was again down East, observingthe movements of those who were about to strike or who had alreadystruck.

  It hardly seemed worth while starting to lay the bed plates of hisfortune till he had consulted the expert. What would Rockefeller havedone? He would, John felt certain, have gone to the ball-game.

  He imitated the great financier.

  * * * * *

  It was while he was smoking a cigar after dinner that night, musing onthe fortunes of the day's game and, in particular, on the almostcriminal imbecility of the umpire, that he was dreamily aware that hewas being "paged." A small boy in uniform was meandering through theroom, chanting his name.

  "Gent wants five minutes wit' you," announced the boy, intercepted."Hasn't got no card. Business, he says."

  This disposed of the idea that Rupert Smith had discovered his retreat.John was puzzled. He could not think of another person in New York whoknew of his presence at the Astor. But it was the unknown that he wasin search of, and he decided to see the mysterious stranger.

  "Send him along," he said.

  The boy disappeared, and presently John observed him threading his wayback among the tables, followed by a young man of extraordinary gravityof countenance, who was looking about him with an intent gaze through apair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

  John got up to meet him.

  "My name is Maude," he said. "Won't you sit down? Have you had dinner?"

  "Thank you, yes," said the spectacled young man.

  "You'll have a cigar and coffee, then?"

  "Thank you, yes."

  The young man remained silent until the waiter had filled his cup.

  "My name is Crump," he said. "I am Mr. Benjamin Scobell's privatesecretary."

  "Yes?" said John. "Snug job?"

  The other seemed to miss something in his voice.

  "You have heard of Mr. Scobell?" he asked.

  "Not to my knowledge," said John.

  "Ah! you have lost touch very much with Mervo, of course."

  John stared.

  "Mervo?"

  It sounded like some patent medicine.

  "I have been instructed," said Mr. Crump solemnly, "to inform YourHighness that the Republic has been dissolved, and that your subjectsoffer you the throne of your ancestors."

  John leaned back in his chair, and looked at the speaker in dumbamazement. The thought flashed across him that Mr. Crump had beenperfectly correct in saying that he had dined.

  His attitude appeared to astound Mr. Crump. He goggled through hisspectacles at John, who was reminded of some rare fish.

  "You are John Maude? You said you were."

  "I'm John Maude right enough. We're solid on that point."

  "And your mother was the only sister of Mr. Andrew Westley?"

  "You're right there, too."

  "Then there is no mistake. I say the Republic--" He paused, as ifstruck with an idea. "Don't you know?" he said. "Your father--"

  John became suddenly interested.

  "If you've got anything to tell me about my father, go right ahead.You'll be the only man I've ever met who has said a word about him. Whothe deuce was he, anyway?"

  Mr. Crump's face cleared.

  "I understand. I had not expected this. You have been kept inignorance. Your father, Mr. Maude, was the late Prince Charles ofMervo."

  It was not easy to astonish John, but this announcement did so. Hedropped his cigar in a shower of gray ash on to his trousers, andretrieved it almost mechanically, his wide-open eyes fixed on theother's face.

  "What!" he cried.

  Mr. Crump nodded gravely.

  "You are Prince John of Mervo, and I am here--" he got into his strideas he reached the familiar phrase--"to inform Your Highness that theRepublic has been dissolved, and that your subjects offer you thethrone of your ancestors."

  A horrid doubt seized John.

  "You're stringing me. One of those Indians at the _News_, RupertSmith, or someone, has put you up to this."

  Mr. Crump appeared wounded.

  "If Your Highness would glance at these documents-- This is a copyof the register of the church in which your mother and father weremarried."

  John glanced at the document. It was perfectly lucid.

  "Then--then it's true!" he said.

  "Perfectly true, Your Highness. And I am here to inform--"

  "But where the deuce is Mervo? I never heard of the place."

  "It is an island principality in the Mediterranean, Your High--"

  "For goodness' sake, old man, don't keep calling me 'Your Highness.' Itmay be fun to you, but it makes me feel a perfect ass. Let me get intothe thing gradually."

  Mr. Crump felt in his pocket.

  "Mr. Scobell," he said, producing a roll of bills, "entrusted me withmoney to defray any expenses--"

  More than any words, this spectacle removed any lingering doubt whichJohn might have had as to the
possibility of this being some intricatepractical joke.

  "Are these for me?" he said.

  Mr. Crump passed them across to him.

  "There are a thousand dollars here," he said. "I am also instructed tosay that you are at liberty to draw further against Mr. Scobell'saccount at the Wall Street office of the European and Asiatic Bank."

  The name Scobell had been recurring like a _leit-motif_ in Mr.Crump's conversation. This suddenly came home to John.

  "Before we go any further," he said, "let's get one thing clear. Who isthis Mr. Scobell? How does he get mixed up in this?"

  "He is the proprietor of the Casino at Mervo."

  "He seems to be one of those generous, open-handed fellows. Nothing ofthe tight wad about him."

  "He is deeply interested in Your High--in your return."

  John laid the roll of bills beside his coffee cup, and relighted hiscigar.

  "That's mighty good of him," he said. "It strikes me, old man, that Iam not absolutely up-to-date as regards the internal affairs of thisimportant little kingdom of mine. How would it be if you were to put menext to one or two facts? Start at the beginning and go right on."

  When Mr. Crump had finished a condensed history of Mervo and Mervianpolitics, John smoked in silence for some minutes.

  "Life, Crump," he said at last, "is certainly speeding up as far as Iam concerned. Up till now nothing in particular has ever happened tome. A couple of days ago I lost my job, was given ten thousand dollarsthat I didn't know existed, and now you tell me I'm a prince. Well,well! These are stirring times. When do we start for the oldhomestead?"

  "Mr. Scobell was exceedingly anxious that we should return bySaturday's boat."

  "Saturday? What, to-morrow?"

  "Perhaps it is too soon. You will not be able to settle your affairs?"

  "I guess I can settle my affairs all right. I've only got to pack agrip and tip the bell hops. And as Scobell seems to be financing thisshow, perhaps it's up to me to step lively if he wants it. But it's apity. I was just beginning to like this place. There is generallysomething doing along the White Way after twilight, Crump."

  The gravity of Mr. Scobell's secretary broke up unexpectedly into aslow, wide smile. His eyes behind their glasses gleamed with a wistfullight.

  "Gee!" he murmured.

  John looked at him, amazed.

  "Crump," he cried. "Crump, I believe you're a sport!"

  Mr. Crump seemed completely to have forgotten his responsible positionas secretary to a millionaire and special messenger to a prince. Hesmirked.

  "I'd have liked a day or two in the old burg," he said softly. "Ihaven't been to Rector's since Ponto was a pup."

  John reached across the table and seized the secretary's hand.

  "Crump," he said, "you _are_ a sport. This is no time for delay.If we are to liven up this great city, we must get busy right away.Grab your hat, and come along. One doesn't become a prince every day.The occasion wants celebrating. Are you with me, Crump, old scout?"

  "Sure thing," said the envoy ecstatically.

  * * * * *

  At eight o'clock on the following morning, two young men, hatless and alittle rumpled, but obviously cheerful, entered the Astor Hotel,demanding breakfast.

  A bell boy who met them was addressed by the larger of the two, andasked his name.

  "Desmond Ryan," he replied.

  The young man patted him on his shoulder.

  "I appoint you, Desmond Ryan," he said, "Grand Hereditary Bell Hop tothe Court of Mervo."

  Thus did Prince John formally enter into his kingdom.