The motor took its place last in the long string of automobiles and carriages that were creeping toward the door of the house which his Royal Highness was honoring.
“Democracy meekly leaving its card at the house of royalty,” laughed the colonel, pointing to the twoscore vehicles ahead of theirs.
“Americans paying their respects to an Englishman who is honored even in his own country,” said Mr. Boon.
“Oh, now, I say, Boon, that's uncommonly neat, you know. What? But perhaps we'd better get out and walk; otherwise it may be a half-hour before—”
A footman in livery came up to their motor, touched his hat with a respect that entitled him to a bank president's wages, and said to the colonel:
“I beg pardon, sir, but 'is Royal 'ighness 'as gone to Mr. Walton's, sir, at number 899 Fifth Avenue. I was hinstructed to tell you to go there, sir.”
“Tell the chauffeur where to go,” said the colonel, briefly.
“Yes, sir—very good, sir.” The man touched his hat and told the chauffeur.
Their motor pulled out of the line and turned to the west.
“Mr. Walton was at Eton with the duke,” explained the colonel to Mr. Boon.