But Jenkins could not brace. He allowed Minot to deposit his limp body in a chair. "I thought you was dead, sir," he mumbled. "A common mistake," smiled George Harrowby. "My family has thought the same, and I've been too busy making automobiles to tell them differently. Mr. Trimmer, will you have a--what's the matter, man?" For Mr. Trimmer was standing, purple, over his proposition. "I want to get this straight," he said with assumed calm. "See here, you cringing cur--what does this mean?" "I thought he was dead," murmured poor Jenkins in terror. "You'll think the same about yourself in a minute--and you'll be _right_," Trimmer predicted. "Come, come," said George Harrowby pacifically. "Sit down, Mr. Trimmer. Sit down and have a drink. Do you mean to say you didn't know Jenkins here was faking?" "Of course I didn't," said Trimmer. He sat down on the extreme edge of a chair, as one who proposed to rise soon. "All this has got me going. I never went round in royal circles before, and I'm dizzy. I suppose you're the real Lord Harrowby?" "To be quite correct, I am. Don't you believe it?" "I can believe anything--when I look at him," said Trimmer, indicating the pitiable ex-claimant to the title. "Say, who is this Jenkins we hear so much about?" "Jenkins was the son of my father's valet," George Harrowby explained. "He came to America with me. We parted suddenly on a ranch in southern Arizona." "Everybody said you was dead," persisted Jenkins, as one who could not lose sight of that fact. "Yes? And they gave you my letters and belongings, eh? So you thought you'd pose as me?" "Yes, sir," confessed Jenkins humbly. Mr. Trimmer slid farther back into his chair. "Well," he said, "it's unbelievable, but Henry Trimmer has been buncoed. I met this able liar in a boarding-house in New York, and he convinced me he was Lord Harrowby. It was between jobs for me, and I had a bright idea. If I brought this guy down to the wedding, established him as the real lord, and raised Cain generally, I figured my stock as a publicity man would rise a hundred per cent. I'd be turning down fifty-thousand-dollar jobs right and left. I suppose I was easy, but I'd never mixed up with such things before, and all the dope he had impressed me--the family coat of arms, and the motto--" The Chicago man laughed softly. "_Credo Harrowby_," he said. "That was it--trust Harrowby," said Trimmer bitterly. "Lord, what a fool I've been. And it's ruined my career. I'll be the laughing-stock--" "Oh, cheer up, Mr. Trimmer," smiled George Harrowby. "I'm sure you're unduly pessimistic about your career. I'll have something to say to you on that score later. For the present--" "For the present," broke in Trimmer with fervor, "iron bars for Jenkins here. I'll swear out the warrant myself--"