“But, may I ask, what are you?”
Grafton looked cautiously about. “A king,” he said. “But I don’t want it known.”
Zeppstein grew nervous. “You Americans are great jesters,” he murmured.
“And we’re all kings, but we don’t use the title; it’s too common at home and too troublesome abroad. However, I’ll overlook the difference in our rank. Lead on!”
On the way Zeppstein gave him detailed instructions in how to behave himself. “I shall probably be permitted to conduct you only to the door of the cabinet,” he said. “You must knock quietly and enter at once without waiting for an answer. As soon as you are inside the door, draw it shut behind you, but don’t turn round in doing so. You must be facing His Royal Highness and making a bow, head on a level with the loins, until he speaks. You might have your right hand ungloved. His Royal Highness may in the circumstances be graciously pleased to give you his hand to shake. If he should decorate you, you must sink to your knees, and when he has put the decoration over your bowed head you must kiss his hand—place the back of your right hand under his palm and kiss respectfully but not lingeringly. Be sure your lips are dry. His Royal Highness has a horror of being touched by damp lips. Be careful what you say; it is wisest to answer as briefly as possible such questions as His Royal Highness may be graciously pleased to ask. And don’t say ‘you’ to him, always ‘Your Royal Highness.’”
“And when I leave—do I walk, wriggle, or crawl?” asked Grafton.
“Walk backwards,” said Zeppstein. “Only members of the cabinet wriggle in and out on their knees, and they only when they’re sworn.”
“No; I think that’s too self-respecting,” replied Grafton. “I think I’ll crawl.”
“But, my dear Mr. Grafton, it is against all precedent. We haven’t crawled for several centuries.”
“I’ll revive the fashion. This is a bumptious generation; it should be taught humility.”