that would give the place a tone. That was what he had had in his mind
when he sent for John. He did not want a cheerful young man in a soft
hat and a flannel suit who looked as if at any moment he might burst
into a college yell.

General Poineau, meanwhile, had embarked on the address of welcome.
John regarded him thoughtfully.

"I can see," he said to Mr. Scobell, "that the gentleman is making a
good speech, but what is he saying? That is what gets past me."

"He is welcoming Your Highness," said Mr. Crump, the linguist, "in the
name of the people of Mervo."

"Who, I notice, have had the bully good sense to stay in bed. I guess
they knew that the Boy Orator would do all that was necessary. He
hasn't said anything about a bite of breakfast, has he? Has his address
happened to work around to the subject of shredded wheat and shirred
eggs yet? That's the part that's going to make a hit with me."

"There'll be breakfast at my villa, Your Highness," said Mr. Scobell.
"My automobile is waiting along there."

The General reached his peroration, worked his way through it, and
finished with a military clash of heels and a salute. The band rattled
off the national anthem once more.

"Now, what?" said John, turning to Mr. Scobell. "Breakfast?"

"I guess you'd better say a few words to them, Your Highness; they'll