"That I--ah--why, that I was writing an obituary poem on--" "Me?" queried Barncastle, calmly. "No," said Toppleton. "On myself." CHAPTER XIV. THE DINNER AND ITS RESULT. A HALF-HOUR later Toppleton entered the drawing room of Barncastle Hall, umbrella in one hand, carpet-bag in the other; his red necktie arranged grotesquely about his neck, the picture of Americanism "as she is drawn" by British cartoonists. Any other than a well-bred English gathering would have received him with hilarious enthusiasm, and Hopkins was rather staggered as he passed through the doorway to note the evident interest, and yet utter lack of surprise, which his appearance inspired in those who had been bidden to the feast to meet him. He perceived at once that he no more than fulfilled the expectations of these highly cultivated people, and it was with difficulty that he repressed the mirth which was madly endeavouring to take possession of his whole system. The only portions of his make-up that attracted special attention--if he could judge from a whispered comment or two that reached his ears, and the glances directed toward them by the Duchess of Bangletop and the daughters of the Earl of Whiskerberry--were the carpet-bag and the umbrella. The blue dress coat and tight-fitting trousers were taken as a matter of course. The red necktie and diamond stud were assumed to be the proper thing in Rocky Mountain society, but the bag and umbrella seemed to strike the English mind as a case of Ossa piled upon Pelion. "Good evening, ladies," said Hopkins with a bow which was graceful in spite of his efforts to make it awkward. "I hope I haven't increased anybody's appetite uncomfortably by being late. This watch of mine is set to Rocky Mountain time, and it's a little unreliable in this climate." "He's just the dear delightful creature I have been looking for for years and years," said the Duchess of Bangletop to Lady Maude Whiskerberry. "So very American," said Lady Cholmondely Persimmon, of Persimmon Towers--a well-preserved young noblewoman of eighteen or twenty social seasons. "Duchess," said Barncastle, coming forward, "permit me to present to you my friend Hopkins Parkerberry Toppleton, the Poet Laureate of the Rocky Mountains." "Howdy do, Duchess," said Toppleton, dropping his carpet-bag, and extending his hand to grasp that of the Duchess. "So pleased," said the Duchess with a smile and an attempt at hauteur, which was hardly successful. "Glad you're pleased," said Toppleton, "because that means we're both pleased." "Lady Maude Whiskerberry, Mr. Toppleton. Lady Persimmon, Mr. Toppleton," said Barncastle, resuming the introductions after Toppleton had picked up the carpet-bag again and announced his readiness to meet the other ladies.