“Why not?” inquired Boy.
“I shall very likely have been made King by that time,” remarked the footman with his nose in the air. “You can still stay at the Palace, though, if you like.”
“Really!” exclaimed Boy. “Have you been elected then?” he asked, forgetting that the Election did not take place till two o’clock in the afternoon.
“Not yet,” admitted the footman, “but I’m pretty sure to be, because of my name, you know.”
“Smith?” inquired Boy.
“No, the others,” said the footman impatiently. “Cæsar was a king, I’ve heard, and so was Augustus, so was Maximilian, and so was Claudius, I believe.”
“No, they were all emperors,” corrected Boy. “Cæsar, Augustus, and Claudius, were emperors of Rome, and Maximilian was Emperor of Germany. We heard all about them in our History class last term.”
“Are you sure, sir?” asked the footman mournfully.
“Yes, quite!” replied Boy decidedly.
“Dear me,” cried the poor man, “I’m afraid that I don’t stand quite as much chance as I thought I did. What a pity! I’ve ordered my crown and things too,” he continued. “Never mind! perhaps I may be elected after all. I suppose, sir, if I offered to vote for you, you wouldn’t vote for me, would you?”