The Prince looked up. Did he not know the “Gettysburg Address” by heart?
“Yes, sir,” he said. “The—my grandfather thinks that President Lincoln was a very great man.”
“One of the world’s greatest. I hardly thought, over here—” Mr. Thorpe paused and looked speculatively at the boy. “You’d better keep that penny where you won’t lose it,” he said soberly. “It doesn’t hurt us to try to be good. If you’re in trouble, think of the difficulties Abraham Lincoln surmounted. If you want to be great, think how great he was.” He was a trifle ashamed of his own earnestness. “All that for a penny, young man!”
The festivities were taking a serious turn. There was a little packet at each plate, and now Bobby’s mother reached over and opened hers.
“Oh!” she said, and exhibited a gaudy tissue paper bonnet. Everybody had one. Mr. Thorpe’s was a dunce’s cap, and Fraulein’s a giddy Pierrette of black and white. Bobby had a military cap. With eager fingers Ferdinand William Otto opened his; he had never tasted this delicious paper-cap joy before.
It was a crown, a sturdy bit of gold paper, cut into points and set with red paste jewels—a gem of a crown. He was charmed. He put it on his head, with the unconsciousness of childhood, and posed delightedly.
The Fraulein looked at Prince Ferdinand William Otto, and slowly the color left her lean face. She stared. It was he, then, and none other. Stupid, not to have known at the beginning! He, the Crown Prince, here in the home of these barbarous Americans, when, by every plan that had been made, he should now be in the hands of those who would dispose of him.
“I give you,” said Mr. Thorpe, raising his glass toward his wife, “the giver of the feast. Boys, up with you!”
It was then that the Fraulein, making an excuse, slipped out of the room.