They crowned Olejoe with a massy crown, a-sparkle with rubies and diamonds and other glass ware. They sat him on a gilded throne, and placed a sceptre in his right hand, and a large tankard of beer in his left. They sang "Olejoe’s body lies a mouldering in the grave," triumphantly, and the resplendent figure in scarlet and gold thoroughly alarmed by the sinister refrain, rubbed his stubby chin at intervals and demanded earnestly that there should be no larks. II "Isn’t it time that Tuppy made a move?" asked Sir Harry at breakfast. "He’s been there four days now, and he ought to have made his presence felt." "Tuppy’s a bit of a slug," said Hal brutally, "he’ll want a lot of boosting." "I’ve been thinking," said his father, "of some plan whereby we could bring the fact of his being in the neighbourhood into greater prominence; now if it were summer time a garden party would be an excellent idea. We can’t very well give a public reception to him—what about getting him to open a bazaar?" Hal shook his head. "You couldn’t get Tuppy to do it. No, governor, you’ll have to think of some other plan." "We can’t hold a function here," mused Sir Harry, "it wouldn’t have the same effect. The county are hardly likely to be impressed by Lord Tupping." "And any way the county wouldn’t come," said the practical Hal, "I hardly know—by jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, "what about the Terrills?" "The Terrills." "Yes—hang it all, they’re our relations. You know they owe us something; splendid! If we can only persuade Aunt Agatha to do it, what a smack in the eye for the Duke!" "I’m afraid," began Sir Harry dubiously. "Rot, governor! try ’em—butter the old lady—wantin’ to show a little hospitality to a friend—get mother to write—dash it all! it’s a magnificent idea. You’ll get the Duke creature tearin’ his hair——" Hal persuaded his father to write. It was when the letter carefully worded, and punctiliously punctuated had been written, that Hal started in to gratify his private curiosity. "Governor," he opened, "d’ye know, I’m completely fogged over the Duke business." "Yes?" Sir Harry looked up suspiciously. "Yes," Hal went on. "It seemed all right at first that you should want him to clear out of Brockley. He’d annoyed you, by getting the better of you, and he annoyed me most tremendously. Governor," he blurted, "I’m most awfully gone on Alicia." "H’m." Sir Harry frowned at the revelation. "It’s a fact and I don’t care who knows it," said Hal recklessly, "I as good as told her so." "To raise hopes that can never be realized is scarcely honourable, Hal," said his parent severely, "to rouse the love of a young woman——" "Oh, don’t worry about that," said the dismal Hal, "I didn’t raise any hopes, or rouse love, or do any rotten thing like that. We’ll cut that story short if you don’t mind. It’s a sore point with me. What I want to know is, what is the real inside meaning of our rushin’ the Duke."