"It’s a mighty serious business ejecting a duke," he said. "I sent Cole down to the free library to get a book on the feudal customs, and I’ve just read that old book from startin’ gate to judges’ wire, and there’s nothin’ doin’ about firin’ dukes—or duchesses," he added. Alicia changed the subject with incoherent rapidity. "What will you do?" she asked hastily. "Do?" Hank’s eyebrows rose at the preposterous question. "Do? Why I guess we’ll just stay on." "But my uncle will serve you with a writ of ejectment," she persisted. Hank shook his head. "I don’t know her," he confessed, "but she must be geared up to shift the Duke. She must be well oiled an’ run on ball bearin’s, an’ be triple expansion ’fore an’ aft to make him budge. And if she misses fire once, it’s down and out for hers. I don’t know any writ of ejectment that was ever cast, that could lift the Duke when he was once planted." Hank shook his head with an air of finality. "Our new landlord ought to be warned," he said. "Some one ought to tell him. It ain’t fair—he doesn’t know Dukey." A bright thought struck him. "I’ll warn him," he said and grew cheerful at the prospect. III "D’ye see, Hal?" It was in the middle of the fourth conference between father and son, and Sir Harry had triumphantly rounded off his plan when Hank was announced. The two men exchanged glances. "Surrendered without firing a shot," murmured Sir Harry. "Show the gentleman in, William." Hank came into the library and found two grave gentlemen bent over a gorgeously illuminated coat of arms. Sir Harry looked up with a start when Hank was ushered in, and offered him his hand with a smile of patient weariness. "Won’t you sit down!" he said politely. "I’m afraid our task is an unfamiliar one to you, an American. There is some dispute as to whether the Tanneurs of the fourteenth century are related through a cadet branch of the Howards—but heraldry would bore you?" Hank’s face was impassive. "No, _sir_," he replied calmly. "I knew a feller down in Montana, a fat little fellow named Sank, that made a pile out of sheer carefulness—he never came in under a pair an’ never bet under a straight flush—who got _that_ bug in his sombrero. Paid a man down in New York 5,000 dollars to worry out a choice assortment of ancestors. Got way back to William the Conqueror an’ might easily have fetched up at Noah, only one night he knocked up against little Si Morris sittin’ pat with four aces. Si drew one an’ Sank put him with two pairs—that’s where Sanky went into liquidation." Sir Harry bristled. "You wish to see me about something?" he said coldly. Hank nodded. "This notice to quit," he said; "what’s the idea?"