“That,” said Albert, “I do not know. But you are rather good at inventing, so you can invent a few. That should be your first duty, and you should attend to it at once. I will have trouble enough finding work for myself. Your salary is $500 a year; and now,” he continued, briskly, “we want to prepare for this reception. We can tell the King that Travis was just a guard of honor for the trip, and that I have sent him back to tell the President of my safe arrival. That will keep the President from getting anxious. There is nothing,” continued Albert, “like a uniform to impress people who live in the tropics, and Travis, it so happens, has two in his trunk. He intended to wear them on State occasions, and as I inherit the trunk and all that is in it, I intend to wear one of the uniforms, and you can have the other. But I have first choice, because I am consul.” Captain Travis’s diplomatic outfit consisted of one full dress and one undress United States uniform. Albert put on the dress coat over a pair of white flannel trousers, and looked remarkably brave and handsome. Stedman, who was only eighteen and quite thin, did not appear so well, until Albert suggested his padding out his chest and shoulders with towels. This made him rather warm, but helped his general appearance. “The two Bradleys must dress up too,” said Albert. “I think they ought to act as a guard of honor, don’t you? The only things I have are blazers and jerseys; but it doesn’t much matter what they wear, as long as they dress alike.” He accordingly called in the two Bradleys, and gave them each a pair of the captain’s rejected white duck trousers, and a blue jersey apiece, with a big white Y on it. “The students of Yale gave me that,” he said to the younger Bradley, “in which to play foot-ball, and a great man gave me the other. His name is Walter Camp; and if you rip or soil that jersey, I’ll send you back to England in irons; so be careful.” Stedman gazed at his companions in their different costumes, doubtfully. “It reminds me,” he said, “of private theatricals. Of the time our church choir played ‘Pinafore.’” “Yes,” assented Albert; “but I don’t think we look quite gay enough. I tell you what we need,--medals. You never saw a diplomat without a lot of decorations and medals.” “Well, I can fix that,” Stedman said. “I’ve got a bag full. I used to be the fastest bicycle-rider in Connecticut, and I’ve got all my prizes with me.” Albert said doubtfully that that wasn’t exactly the sort of medal he meant. “Perhaps not,” returned Stedman, as he began fumbling in his trunk; “but the King won’t know the difference. He couldn’t tell a cross of the Legion of Honor from a medal for the tug of war.”