In Honours Cause | Page 5

the dignity of the establishment as gentlemen in
the Prince's train. It wants it badly enough, with all these
sausage-eating Vans and Vons and Herrs. We must do it while things
are in this state for the sake of old England."
"I wish I had never come here," said Frank dismally. "No, I don't," he
added cheerfully. "I am close to my mother, and I see father sometimes.
I say, didn't he look well at the head of his company yesterday?"
"Splendid!" cried Andrew warmly. "Here, cheer up, young one; you'll
soon get to like it; and one of these days we'll both be marching at the
heads of our companies."
"Think so?" cried Frank eagerly.
"I'm sure of it. Of course I like our uniform, and thousands of fellows
would give their ears to be pages at the Palace; but you don't suppose I
mean to keep on being a sort of lapdog in the anteroom. No. Wait a bit.
There'll be grand times by-and-by. We must be like the rest of the best
people, looking forward to the turn of the tide."
Frank glanced quickly at the tall, handsome lad at his side, and
quickened his pace and lengthened his stride to keep up with him, for
he had drawn himself up and held his head back as if influenced by
thoughts beyond the present. But he slackened down directly.
"No need to make ourselves hot," he said. "You'd like to run, you little
savage; but it won't do now. Let the mob do that. Look! that's Lord
Ronald's carriage. Quick! do as I do."
He doffed his hat to the occupant of the clumsy vehicle, Frank
following his example; and they were responded to by a handsome,
portly man with a bow and smile.
"I say," said Frank, "how stupid a man looks in a great wig like that."

"Bah! It is ridiculous. Pretty fashion these Dutchmen have brought in."
"Dutchmen! What Dutchmen?"
"Oh, never mind, innocence," said Andrew, with a half laugh. "Just
think of how handsome the gentlemen of the Stuart time looked in their
doublets, buff boots, long natural hair, and lace. This fashion is
disgusting. Here's old Granthill coming now," he continued, as the
trampling of horses made him glance back. "Don't turn round; don't see
him."
"Very well," said Frank with a laugh; "but whoever he is, I don't
suppose he'll mind whether I bow or not."
"Whoever he is!" cried Andrew contemptuously. "I say, don't you know
that he is one of the King's Ministers?"
"No," said Frank thoughtfully. "Oh yes, I do; I remember now. Of
course. But I've never thought about these things. He's the gentleman,
isn't he, that they say is unpopular?"
"Well, you are partly right. He is unpopular; but I don't look upon him
as a gentleman. Hark! hear that?" he shouted excitedly, as he looked
eagerly toward where the first carriage had passed round the curve
ahead of him on its way toward Westminster.
"Yes, there's something to see. I know; it must be the soldiers. Come
along; I want to see them."
"No, it isn't the soldiers; it's the people cheering Lord Ronald on his
way to the Parliament House. They like him. Every one does. He
knows my father, and yours too. He knows me. Didn't you see him
smile? I'll introduce you to him first time there's a levee."
"No, I say, don't," said Frank, flushing. "He'd laugh at me."
"So do I now. But this won't do, Frank; you mustn't be so modest."
The second carriage which had passed them rolled on round the curve

in the track of the first and disappeared, Frank noticing that many of the
promenaders turned their heads to look after it. Then his attention was
taken up by his companion's words.
"Look here," he cried; "I want to show you Fleet Street."
"Fleet Street," said Frank,--"Fleet Street. Isn't that where Temple Bar
is?"
"Well done, countryman! Quite right."
"Then I don't want to see it."
"Why?" said Andrew, turning to him in surprise at the change which
had come over his companion, who spoke in a sharp, decided way.
"Because I read about the two traitors' heads being stuck up there on
Temple Bar, and it seems so horrible and barbarous."
"So it is, Frank," whispered Andrew, grasping his companion's arm.
"It's horrible and cowardly. It's brutal; and--and--I can't find words bad
enough for the act of insulting the dead bodies of brave men after
they've executed them. But never mind; it will be different some day.
There, I always knew I should like you, young one. You've got the right
stuff in you for making a brave, true gentleman; and--and I hope I
have."
"I'm sure you have," cried Frank warmly.
"Then we will not pass