Tuppy looked up; his face lit joyfully.
"Monty, by the High Heavens!" he exclaimed. Then he smacked his forehead, "Monty—Montvillier—you ain't my Duke are you?"
"I'm your Duke—your liege Duke of life and limb and earthly regard——"
"Half a mo," said the vulgarly practical Tuppy, "I'm comin' over."
He came over the wall, silk hat awry, joyously dusty.
He all but fell upon the Duke's neck.
"My dear old bird," he cried ecstatically, "of all the wonderful coincidences that ever made a novelist's fortune, this is the wonderfullest—this is the exalted top-notcher. If the dowager knew, she'd go ravin' mad. I've a jolly good mind to write an' tell her."
Arm in arm they passed into the house.
That night:
Tuppy wrote to Tummy Clare—his one confidant.