"Verry gracious of his Majesty I am sure," replied the tailor, washing his hands in invisible soap, and bowing most courteously.
"Now the chances are," continued the Unwiseman, "that as soon as the King receives a letter I wrote to him from Liverpool about how to stamp out this horrible habit his subjects have of littering up the street with aitches, clogging traffic and overworking the Roberts picking 'em up, he'll ask me to settle down over here and be a Duke. Naturally I don't want to disappoint him because I consider the King to be a mighty nice man, but unless I can get a first-class Duke's costume——"
"We make a specialty of Ducal robes, your Grace," said the Tailor, manifesting a great deal of interest in his queer little customer.
"Hold on a minute," cried the Unwiseman. "Don't you call me that yet—I shant be a grace until I've decided to accept. What does an A-1 Duke's clothes cost?"
"You mean the full State——" began the Tailor.
"I come from New York State," said the Unwiseman. "Yes—I guess that's it. New York's the fullest State in the Union. How much for a New York State Duke?"
"The State Robes will cost—um—let me see—I should think about fifteen hundred pounds, your Lordship," calculated the Tailor. "Of course it all depends on the quality of the materials. Velvets are rawther expensive these days."
Whistlebinkie gave a long low squeak of astonishment. Mollie gasped and the Unwiseman turned very pale as he tremblingly repeated the figure.
"Fif-teen-hundred-pounds? Why," he added turning to Mollie, "I'd have to live about seven thousand years to get the wear out of it at a dollar a year."