"Then, with the distinct understanding that this is sub rosa—now we do understand each other, don't we?" pleaded Ardmore.
"Perfectly, Mr. Ardmore," and the perspiration began to bead the reporter's forehead in his excitement over the impending revelation.
"Then you shall know why I feel so bitter about the duke. I assure you that nothing but the deepest chagrin over the matter causes me to tell you what I have never revealed before—not even to members of my family—not to my most intimate friend."
"I appreciate all that—"
"Well, the fact is—but please never mention it—the fact is that his Grace owes me four dollars. I gave it to him in two bills—I remember the incident perfectly—two crisp new bills I had just got at the bank. His Grace borrowed the money to pay a cabman—it was the very day before he married my sister. Now let me ask you this: Can an American citizen allow a duke to owe him four dollars? The villain never referred to the matter again, and from that day to this I have made it a rule never to lend money to a duke."
The reporter stared a moment, then laughed. He abandoned the idea of getting material for a sensational article and scented the possibilities of a character sketch of the whimsical young millionaire.
"How about that story that your brother, Samuel Ardmore, is going to marry the chorus girl he ran over in his automobile?"
"I hope it's true; I devoutly do. I'm very fond of music myself, and, strange to say, nobody in our family is musical. I think a chorus girl would be a real addition to our family. It would bring up the family dignity—you can see that."
"The wires brought a story this afternoon that your cousin, Wingate Siddall—he is your cousin, isn't he—?"
"I'm afraid so. What's Siddy's latest?"