“Don’t butt in!” advised Bill. “Remember what you just went through back there in Morania. That old bird may be the Emperor of Switzerland for all you know!”
Hank seized a passing caddie. “Hey, kid!” he ordered, “who is that old chunk of trouble amblin’ along there in the giddy plaids?”
The caddie looked.
“Over there?” he asked. “With the eyeglass?”
“The same!” said Hank. “Now whose grandpappy is he?”
“That’s his grace the Duke of Mountjoy and Pewanit,” said the boy glibly, “and he is waving to the Prime Minister.”
“Thanks!” said Hank. He passed on, and after a moment lifted up his voice in a sort of chant.
“And the folks will say, ‘What did you do with yourself when you wasn’t flyin’?’ and I will say, ‘Oh, we found a pretty decent Club. Old Dook Mountjoy-and-Thinggummy belongs. Used to meet him there with the Prime Minister.’”
Bill glared. “Honest; I tell you one thing right now. You can commence to talk straight United States NOW or we go back in separate dirigibles.”
“Aw, I’m just practicin’,” Hank replied.