I've a mind to send you forward with my
card."
Philip's eyes narrowed and he laughed softly. Tearing a sheet of paper
from a notebook he took from his pocket, he scribbled upon it the
following astonishing message:
"The Duke of Connecticut desires an audience. Do not kick the courier!"
Accustomed by now to carry birch-bark messages to Diane, Richard
Whittington waggled in perfect understanding and trotted off obediently
toward the fire with Philip close at his heels.
Conceivably astonished, the camper presently picked up the paper which
Mr. Whittington dropped at his feet, and read it. As Philip stepped
lazily from the trees he turned.
It was Baron Tregar. Both men stared.
"The Duke of Connecticut!" at length rumbled the Baron with perfect
gravity. "I am overwhelmed."
Philip, much the more astonished of the two, laughed and bowed.
"Excellency," said he formally, "I am indeed astonished."
"Pray be seated!" invited the Baron, his eyes more friendly than those
of his guest. "I, too, have taken to the highway, Poynter, on yonder
motorcycle and I have lost my way." He sniffed in disgust. "I am
dining," he added dryly, "if one may dignify the damnable proceeding by
that name, on potatoes which I do not in the least know how to bake
without reducing them to cinders.
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