It was a horse-car, old-fashioned, rickety, with canvas awnings, drawn wearily along by an aged horse. Mr. Van Decht eyed it with vast curiosity.
“Jehosophat,” he repeated. “I’d like to take that whole affair right back with us and sell it to the first dime museum that’d give the price. Look at the bonnet on the horse’s head, Sara, and the bell! My, how she bumps! I must have a talk with your King, Sara. My number-three installation is what is wanted here with overhead wires and forty Cambridge wagons. With cheap labour and water transport I guess it would be a light contract. I’m going to board the next that comes along, Sara, and get the thing into my head.”
“The streets look very narrow and hilly for cars, father.”
“Guess the whole place wants straightening out a bit,” Mr. Van Decht admitted. “If your King wants to make this place go, Sara, he’s got to imbibe a few Western notions, and the sooner the better.”
“You shall talk to him,” Sara remarked, with a little smile at the corner of her lips. “I am sure that he will be interested.”
“I guess I can give him some ideas,” Mr. Van Decht remarked, puffing vigorously at his cigar. “You’d better write that note, Sara.”
“In a moment, father. It’s so fascinating to watch these country people with their baskets. Look! There is something you can’t beat in New York, anyhow.”
Up the steep, narrow road came a company of horse-soldiers—a gay sight—in flashing helmets, plumes, and the soft blue uniform of the Thetian Guards. A band up at the palace played them in. The people rushed to the right and to the left, lined the pavements and shouted a greeting. Then suddenly every head was uncovered, and a little respectful murmur rippled through the crowd.
“The King! Long live the King!”
Sara rose eagerly from her place at the table. They were virtually upon the pavement—a little extended near the hotel and dotted about with tiny round tables. It was Ughtred who rode at the head of the little troop of soldiers, and suddenly their eyes met. A sharp word of command broke from his lips. He dismounted and crossed the street towards them, drawing off his heavy white gloves as he came.