“But it’s such a long drama!” was the plaintive reply. “We must have got to the Fifth Act by this time!”
“Third Act, I assure you,” said the young soldier mercilessly. “Scene, a railway-platform. Lights down. Enter Prince (in disguise, of course) and faithful Attendant. This is the Prince—” (taking Bruno’s hand) “and here stands his humble Servant! What is your Royal Highness’s next command?” And he made a most courtier-like low bow to his puzzled little friend.
“Oo’re not a Servant!” Bruno scornfully exclaimed. “Oo’re a Gemplun!”
“Servant, I assure your Royal Highness!” Eric respectfully insisted. “Allow me to mention to your Royal Highness my various situations—past, present, and future.”
“What did oo begin wiz?” Bruno asked, beginning to enter into the jest. “Was oo a shoe-black?”
“Lower than that, your Royal Highness! Years ago, I offered myself as a Slave—as a ‘Confidential Slave,’ I think it’s called?” he asked, turning to Lady Muriel.
But Lady Muriel heard him not: something had gone wrong with her glove, which entirely engrossed her attention.
“Did oo get the place?” said Bruno.
“Sad to say, Your Royal Highness, I did not! So I had to take a situation as—as Waiter, which I have now held for some years—haven’t I?” He again glanced at Lady Muriel.
“Sylvie dear, do help me to button this glove!” Lady Muriel whispered, hastily stooping down, and failing to hear the question.