"Strange," thought Claudius, "that Barker should take the news so quietly. I think it ought to have astonished him more." Leaving the organ-grinder, the dirty baby, and the horse-cars to their fate, Claudius entered the hotel. He found the Duke over a late breakfast, eating cantelopes voraciously. Cantelopes are American melons, small and of sickly appearance, but of good vitality and unearthly freshness within, a joy to the hot-stomached foreigner. Behold also, his Grace eateth the cantelope and hath a cheerful countenance. Claudius sat down at the table, looking rather gloomy.
"I want you to give me an introduction to the English Ambassador in Petersburg. Lord Fitzdoggin, I believe he is."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the peer; "what for?"
"I am going there," answered Claudius with his habitual calm, "and I want to know somebody in power."
"Oh! are you going?" asked the Duke, suddenly grasping the situation. He afterwards took some credit to himself for having been so quick to catch Claudius's meaning.
"Yes. I sail on Wednesday."
"Tell me all about it," said the Duke, who recovered his equanimity, and plunged a knife into a fresh cantelope at the same moment.
"Very well. I saw your friend, Mr. Horace Bellingham, this morning, and he told me all about the Countess's troubles. In fact, they are in the newspapers by this time, but I had not read about them. He suggested that some personal friend of the Countess had better proceed to headquarters at once, and see about it; so I said I would go; and he gave me some introductions. They are probably good ones; but he advised me to come to you and get one for your ambassador."
"Anything Uncle Horace advises is right, you know," said his Grace, speaking with his mouth full. "He knows no end of people everywhere," he added pensively, when he had swallowed.
"Very well, I will go; but I am glad you approve."