Highness, the Prince of Mervo. I'm going to send for him and put him on
the throne again."

"You can't, dear. He's dead."

"I know he's dead. You can't faze me on the history of this place. He
died in ninety-one. But before he died he married an American girl, and
there's a son, who's in America now, living with his uncle. It's the
son I'm going to send for. I got it all from General Poineau. He's a
royalist. He'll be tickled to pieces when Johnny comes marching home
again. Old man Poineau told me all about it. The Prince married a girl
called Westley, and then he was killed in an automobile accident, and
his widow went back to America with the kid, to live with her brother.
Poineau says he could lay his hand on him any time he pleased."

"I hope you won't do anything rash, dear," said his sister comfortably.
"I'm sure we don't want any horrid revolution here, with people
shooting and stabbing each other."

"Revolution?" cried Mr. Scobell. "Revolution! Well, I should say nix!
Revolution nothing. I'm the man with the big stick in Mervo. Pretty
near every adult on this island is dependent on my Casino for his
weekly envelope, and what I say goes--without argument. I want a
prince, so I gotta have a prince, and if any gazook makes a noise like
a man with a grouch, he'll find himself fired."

Miss Scobell turned to her paper again.

"Very well, dear," she said. "Just as you please. I'm sure you know
best."