the final disposition of the island has been bestowed upon De la
Boissiere.

So, some day, he may proclaim the accession of a new king, and
give a new lease of life to the kingdom of which Harden-Hickey
dreamed.

But unless his son, or wife, or daughter should assert his or her
rights, which is not likely to happen, so ends the dynasty of James
the First of Trinidad, Baron of the Holy Roman Empire.

To the wise ones in America he was a fool, and they laughed at
him; to the wiser ones, he was a clever rascal who had evolved a
new real-estate scheme and was out to rob the people--and they
respected him. To my mind, of them all, Harden-Hickey was the
wisest.

Granted one could be serious, what could be more delightful than
to be your own king on your own island?

The comic paragraphers, the business men of "hard, common
sense," the captains of industry who laughed at him and his
national resources of buried treasure, turtles' eggs, and guano, with
his body-guard of Zouaves and his Grand Cross of Trinidad,
certainly possessed many things that Harden-Hickey lacked. But
they in turn lacked the things that made him happy; the power to
"make believe," the love of romance, the touch of adventure that
plucked him by the sleeve.

When, as boys, we used to say: "Let's pretend we're pirates," as a