“Hell and the devil, Gorman,” said the king, “if I have no eggs to ramp and if Bilkins will not play——”
“Wait a minute,” said Gorman, “I told you that Bilkins’ egg racket was a bit shady. He wasn’t actually prosecuted; but his character wants white-washing badly, and the man knows it.”
The king sighed heavily.
“Alas, Gorman,” he said, “it would be of no use for us to wash Bilkins. Corinne and I, if we tried to washwhite, that is, I should say, to whitewash, the man afterwards would be only more black. We are not respectable, Corinne and I. It is no use for Bilkins to come to us.”
“That’s so,” said Gorman. “I don’t suppose a certificate from me would be much good either. Bilkins’ own idea—he feels his position a good deal—is that if he could get a title—knighthood for instance—or even an O.B.E., it would set him up again; but they won’t give him a thing. He has paid handsomely into the best advertised charities and showed me the receipts himself—and handed over £10,000 to the party funds, giving £5,000 to each party to make sure; and now he feels he’s been swindled. They won’t do it—can’t, I suppose. The eggs were too fishy.”
“I should not care,” said the king, “if all the eggs were fishes. If I were a party and could get £5,000. But I am not a party, Gorman, I am a king.”
“Exactly,” said Gorman, “and it’s kings who give those things, the things Bilkins wants. Isn’t there a Megalian Order—Pink Vulture or something?”
“Gorman, you have hit it,” said the king delightedly. “You have hit the eye of the bull, and the head of the nail. I can give an order, I can say ‘Bilkins, you are Grand Knight of the Order of the Pink Vulture of Megalia, First Class.’ Gorman, it is done. I give. Bilkins pays. The world admires the honourableness of the Right Honourable Sir Bilkins. His character is washed white. Ah, Corinne, my beloved, you shall spit in the face of the manager of Emile’s. I said I cannot ramp. I have no eggs. I was wrong. The Vulture of Megalia lays an egg for Bilkins.”
“You’ve got the idea,” said Gorman. “But we can’t rush the thing. Your Pink Vulture is all right, of course. I’m not saying anything against it. But most people in this country have never heard of it, and consequently it wouldn’t be of much use to a man of Bilkin’s position. The first thing we’ve got to do is to advertise the fowl; get it fluttering before the public eye. If you leave that part to me I’ll manage it all right. I’ve been connected with the press for years.”
Three days later it was announced in most of the London papers that the King of Megalia had bestowed the Order of the Pink Vulture on Sir Bland Potterton, His Majesty’s Minister for Balkan Affairs, in recognition of his services to the Allied cause in the Near East. Sir Bland Potterton was in Roumania when the announcement appeared and he did not hear of his new honour for nearly three weeks. When he did hear of it he refused it curtly.