The picture of an
American gentleman seated upon a gold throne in a leopard-skin coat,
ordering "oysters and foes" for breakfast, was irresistible.
"But he shaved with a shell when he chose,
'Twas the manner of Primitive Man"
floated through his mind, and he brought himself up sharply.
Clearly, somebody was out of his head, but it must not be he.
"What?" cried Mrs. Hastings in two inelegant syllables, on the
second of which her uncontrollable voice rose. "My brother Otho, a
vestry-man at St. Mark's--"
"Aunt Dora!" pleaded Olivia. "Tell us," she besought the prince.
"King Otho I of Yaque," the prince was begining, but the title was
not to be calmly received by Mrs. Hastings.
"_King_ Otho!" she articulated. "Then--am I royalty?"
"All who may possibly succeed to the throne Blackstone holds to be
royalty," said the lawyer in an edictal voice, and St. George looked
away from Olivia.
_The Princess Olivia_!
"King Otho," continued the prince, "ruled wisely and well for seven
months, and it was at the beginning of that time that the imperial
submarine was sent to the Azores with letters and a packet to you.
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