The Duke in the Suburbs | Page 3

10 till 4," interposed the grave Hank.
"From 10 till 4," accepted the other, "which are my office hours."
"For duking," explained Hank.
"Exactly--for duking," said his grace.
Willie looked from one to the other.

"I say!" he blurted. "you're pulling my leg, aren't you? I say! you're
rotting me."
"I told you so," murmured the Duke resentfully: "Hank, he thinks I'm
rotting--he's certain I'm pulling his leg, Hank."
Hank said nothing.
Only he shook his head despairingly, and taking the other's arm, they
continued their walk, their bowed shoulders eloquent of their dejection.
Willie watched them for a moment, then turned and sped homeward
with the news.
CHAPTER II
The Earl of Windermere wrote to the Rev. Arthur Stayne, M.A., vicar
of St. Magnus, Brockley:
"I have just heard that your unfortunate parish is to be inflicted with
young de Montvillier. What process of reasoning led him to fix upon
Brockley I cannot, dare not, fathom. You may be sure that this freak of
his has some devilishly subtle cause--don't let him worry your good
parishioners. He was at Eton with my boy Jim. I met him
cow-punching in Texas a few years ago when I was visiting the States,
and he was of some service to me. He belongs to one of the oldest
families in France, but his people were chucked out at the time of the
Revolution. He is as good as gold, as plucky as they make 'em, and,
thanks to his father (the only one of the family to settle anywhere for
long), thoroughly Anglicized in sympathies and in language. He is
quite 'the compleat philosopher', flippant, audacious and casual. His pal
Hank, who is with him, is George Hankey, the man who discovered
silver in Los Madeges. Both of them have made and lost fortunes, but I
believe they have come back to England with something like a
competence. Call on them. They will probably be very casual with you,
but they are both worth cultivating."
The Rev. Arthur Stayne called and was admitted into the barely

furnished hall by the deferential man--servant.
"His Grace will see you in the common--room," he said, and ushered
the clergyman into the back parlour.
The Duke rose with a smile, and came towards him with outstretched
hand.
Hank got up from his lounge chair, and waved away the cloud of
smoke that hovered about his head.
"Glad to see you, sir," said the Duke, with a note of respect in his voice,
"this is Mr. Hankey."
The vicar, on his guard against a possibility of brusqueness, returned
Hank's friendly grin with relief.
"I've had a letter from Windermere," he explained. The Duke looked
puzzled for a moment and he turned to his companion.
"That's the guy that fell off the bronco," Hank said with a calm
politeness, totally at variance with his disrespectful language.
The vicar looked at him sharply.
"Oh, yes!" said the Duke eagerly. "of course. I picked him up."
There came to the vicar's mind a recollection that this young man had
been "of some service to me". He smiled.
This broke the ice, and soon there was a three--cornered conversation
in progress, which embraced subjects as far apart as cattle ranching and
gardening.
"Now look here, you people," said the vicar, growing serious after a
while. "I've got something to say to you--why have you come to
Brockley?"
The two men exchanged glances.

"Well," said the Duke slowly. "there were several considerations that
helped us to decide--first of all the death--rate is very low."
"And the gravel soil," murmured Hank encouragingly.
"And the gravel soil," the Duke went on, nodding his head wisely. "and
the rates, you know--"
The vicar raised his hand laughingly.
"Three hundred feet above sea level," he smiled, "yes, I know all about
the advertised glories of Brockley--but really?"
Again they looked at each other.
"Shall I?" asked the Duke.
"Ye--es," hesitated Hank; "you'd better."
The young man sighed.
"Have you ever been a duke on a ranch," he asked innocently. "a
cattle-punching duke, rounding in, branding, roping and ear--marking
cattle--no? I thought not. Have you ever been a duke prospecting silver
or searching for diamonds in the bad lands of Brazil?"
"That's got him," said Hank in a stage whisper.
The vicar waited.
"Have you ever been a duke under conditions and in circumstances
where you were addressed by your title in much the same way as you
call your gardener 'Jim'?"
The vicar shook his head.
"I knew he hadn't," said Hank triumphantly.
"If you had," said the young man with severity, "if your ears had ached

with, 'Here, Duke, get up and light the fire,' or 'Where's that fool Duke,'
or 'Say, Dukey, lend me a chaw of tobacco'--if you had had any of these
experiences, would you not"--he