Busby, like Ganymede at a frown from Jove, departed lightly in the direction of the ladies' dressing-room.
"It's Buzzy, my darlings," he said, sticking in his beaky nose and wide grinning mouth. "You've prinked enough; I'm coming in!"
He was immediately surrounded and assailed with exclamations:
"Oh, Buzzy! why didn't you tell us!"
"A Royal Highness!"
"Mean thing!—not to warn us!"
"What d'ye call His Nibs?"
"We're tickled to death!"
"Don't suffocate me, sweethearts," said Busby, defending himself. "I didn't tell you for a damn good reason. No press-agent stunts before or after. Understand? Besides, the papers are bottled up—democratic respect for His Highness."
"I've a mind to have appendicitis," said one in a whisper to a companion. "Gee! What a chance!"