Harold presently followed him into the room. He was dressed as a country swain, came in with modest, diffident air, and for a while stood watching Chester curiously from the opposite side of the apartment, then crossing over, he stood before him, hat in hand, and bowing low.
"Sir," he said respectfully, "will you be so kind as to tell me if you are anybody in particular? I'm from the country, and shouldn't like to meet any great man and not know it."
"I, sir?" cried Chester, drawing himself up to his full height, and swelling with importance. "I? I am the greatest man in America; the greatest man of the age; I am Mr. Smith, sir, the inventor of the most delicious ices and confectionery ever eaten."
"Thank you, sir," returned Harold, with another low bow. "I shall always be proud and happy to have met so great a man."
Laughter, clapping of hands, and cries of "I! I!" among the spectators, as the two withdrew by way of the hall.
Soon the young actors flocked in again. A book lay on a table, quite near the edge. With a sudden jerk Herbert threw it on the floor.
Rosie picked it up and replaced it, saying: "Can't you let things alone?"
"Rosie, why can't you let the poor boy alone?" whined her cousin, Lora Howard. "No one has ever known me to be guilty of such an exhibition of temper; it's positively wicked."
"Oh, you're very good, Lora," sniffed Zoe. "I can't pretend to be half so perfect."
"Certainly I can't," said Eva.