"Oh, why did you not write to me of your difficulties?" he groaned. "I would have come over and fetched you—we would have borne poverty together."
"Yes," the Prince said mockingly. "''E was werry good to me, 'e was.' Do you think I could submit to government by a prig?"
He started as if stung. The little tinselled figure, looking taller in its swashbuckling habits, stared at him defiantly.
"Tell me," he said brokenly, "have you made a living?"
"No. If truth must be told, Lucy Gray—docked at the tail, sir—hasn't made enough to keep Lucy Grayling in theatrical costumes. I got plenty of kudos in the Provinces, but two of my managers were bogus."
"Yes?" he said vaguely.
"No treasury, don't you know? Ghost didn't walk. No oof, rhino, shiners, coin, cash, salary!"
"Do I understand you have travelled about the country by yourself?"
"By myself! What, in a company? You've picked up Irish in America. Ha! ha! ha!"
"You know what I mean, Lucy." It seemed strange to call this new person Lucy, but "Miss Grayling" would have sounded just as strange.