variety. It's not the Casino that's wrong: it's the darned island.
What's the use of a republic to a place like this? I'm not saying that
you don't want a republic for a live country that's got its way to make
in the world; but for a little runt of a sawn-off, hobo, one-night
stand like this you gotta have something picturesque, something that'll
advertise the place, something that'll give a jolt to folks' curiosity,
and make 'em talk! There's this Monaco gook. He snoops around in his
yacht, digging up telescope-eyed fish, and people talk about it.
'Another darned fish,' they say. 'That's the 'steenth bite the Prince of
Monaco has had this year.' It's like a soap advertisement. It works by
suggestion. They get to thinking about the Prince and his pop-eyed
fishes, and, first thing they know, they've packed their grips and come
along to Monaco to have a peek at him. And when they're there, it's a
safe bet they aren't going back again without trying to get a mess of
easy money from the Bank. That's what this place wants. Whoever heard
of this blamed Republic doing anything except eat and sleep? They used
to have a prince here 'way back in eighty-something. Well, I'm going to
have him working at the old stand again, right away."

Miss Scobell looked up from her paper, which she had been reading with
absorbed interest throughout tins harangue.

"Dear?" she said enquiringly.

"I say I'm going to have him back again," said Mr. Scobell, a little
damped. "I wish you would listen."

"I think you're quite right, dear. Who?"

"The Prince. Do listen, Marion. The Prince of this island, His