"Revolution?" cried Mr. Scobell. "Revolution! Well, I should say nix! Revolution nothing. I'm the man with the big stick in Mervo. Pretty near every adult on this island is dependent on my Casino for his weekly envelope, and what I say goes--without argument. I want a prince, so I gotta have a prince, and if any gazook makes a noise like a man with a grouch, he'll find himself fired." Miss Scobell turned to her paper again. "Very well, dear," she said. "Just as you please. I'm sure you know best." "Sure!" said her brother. "You're a good guesser. I'll go and beat up old man Poineau right away." CHAPTER III JOHN Ten days after Mr. Scobell's visit to General Poineau, John, Prince of Mervo, ignorant of the greatness so soon to be thrust upon him, was strolling thoughtfully along one of the main thoroughfares of that outpost of civilization, Jersey City. He was a big young man, tall and large of limb. His shoulders especially were of the massive type expressly designed by nature for driving wide gaps in the opposing line on the gridiron. He looked like one of nature's center-rushes, and had, indeed, played in that position for Harvard during two strenuous seasons. His face wore an expression of invincible good-humor. He had a wide, good-natured mouth, and a pair of friendly gray eyes. One felt that he liked his fellow men and would be surprised and pained if they did not like him. As he passed along the street, he looked a little anxious. Sherlock Holmes--and possibly even Doctor Watson--would have deduced that he had something on his conscience. At the entrance to a large office building, he paused, and seemed to hesitate. Then, as if he had made up his mind to face an ordeal, he went in and pressed the button of the elevator. Leaving the elevator at the third floor, he went down the passage, and pushed open a door on which was inscribed the legend, "Westley, Martin & Co." A stout youth, walking across the office with his hands full of papers, stopped in astonishment. "Hello, John Maude!" he cried. The young man grinned. "Say, where have you been? The old man's been as mad as a hornet since he found you had quit without leave. He was asking for you just now." "I guess I'm up against it," admitted John cheerfully. "Where did you go yesterday?" John put the thing to him candidly, as man to man. "See here, Spiller, suppose you got up one day and found it was a perfectly bully morning, and remembered that the Giants were playing the Athletics, and looked at your mail, and saw that someone had sent you a pass for the game--" "Were you at the ball-game? You've got the nerve! Didn't you know there would be trouble?" "Old man," said John frankly, "I could no more have turned down that pass-- Oh, well, what's the use? It was just great. I suppose I'd better tackle the boss now. It's got to be done."