“But I had promised to take tea with Catharine Parr,” rebelled Henry. “You know she is rightfully my wife.” “Really? You forget that decrees of divorce are not binding in Hades, whether they have been executed by the hangsman or by the justice.” “I appeal to Judge Blackstone.” “This is altogether without precedent, but I must support the lady,” responded the jurist, gallantly. “Then take her. Bless you, my children. I’ve no hard feelings, Anne. May no decrees of court or fate terminate your second union. I’ve sampled the wine of her womanhood, Judge, and as wine improves with age, it ought to be even better now than it was some hundreds of years ago.” “It isn’t every man who would give his wife a recommendation,” diplomatically remarked Blackstone, alarmed at the construction Henry had placed on his gallantry, and noting that Anne Boleyn seemed pleased thereby. “I fear, however, that Satan would object to any but Lucifer matches in Hades, so until you strike brimstone, Anne here is still your wife.” “How about the others?” groaned Henry. “You must settle that with them,” evaded the jurist. “I think one wife would be enough for me, but as you have made your harem, you can’t lie out of it.” “Henry!” The tone was threatening. The king meekly arose and cast an appealing glance at me. “I would be delighted to have your company,” he said. “In the olden days I should have commanded, but Anne has taken the command from me. You know I want you to denounce those hysterical novelists who have taken liberties with my wives.” “I’d like to see them take liberties with me,” aggressively brindled madam. “They couldn’t do that,” soothingly replied his Majesty. “No, they painted you in your true colors: a study in black and white.” “Where do you live?” I inquired. “On Eighth Avenue, of course,” returned the king, as if that were a foregone conclusion. “Lucifer named and numbered the streets after a recent visit to New York. Ward McAllister wanted me to live in apartments at Twenty-third Street and Fifth Avenue, but the ‘skidoo set’ was not exclusive enough for me and I said I would live on Eighth Avenue or go back to England. Charon wouldn’t listen to that, as he said I had given him only a single trip ticket. So I am domiciled on Eighth Avenue, which we have now reached. Here I live with my six wives.” “Six?” I exclaimed, as we entered the royal palace. “I thought it was eight wives. Why did they call you Henry the Eighth if it were not because of the number of your consorts? The only thing we Americans know about you is that you had more wives than the law allows, and instituted a church to enable you to get another.” “America?” muttered the king. “I don’t remember where that is. Down here, however, we refer all questions of geography to Atlas. My dear, won’t you ask him to come here if he isn’t too weary from carrying on his shoulder the chip of a world which no one will knock off.” But Her Grace did not move.