The Duke in the Suburbs | Page 8

at "Hydeholm", Sir Harry, his son and
the faded lady of the house. Sir Harry read a letter and tossed it to his
wife.
"Laura's in trouble again," he said testily; "really, my dear, your sister
is a trial! First of all her husband loses his money and blames me for
putting him into the Siberian Gold Recovery Syndicate, then he dies,
and now his wife expects me to interest myself in a petty suburban
squabble."
The meek lady read the letter carefully.
"The man seems to have annoyed Alicia," she commented mildly, "and
even though he is a duke--and it seems strange for a duke to be living
in Brockley--"
"Duke?" frowned Sir Harry. "I didn't see anything about dukes. Let me
see the letter again, my love."
"Duke," muttered Sir Harry. "I can't see any word that looks like 'duke'
--ah, here it is, I suppose, I thought it was 'dude'; really Laura writes an
abominable hand. H'm," he said, "I see she suggests that Hal should
spend a week or so with them--how does that strike you, my boy?"
It struck Hal as an unusually brilliant idea. He had views about Alicia,
inclinations that were held in check by his father's frequent
pronouncements on the subject of mesalliances.
So it came about that Hal went on a visit to his aunt and cousin.
"He's probably one of these insignificant continental noblemen," said
his father at parting; "you must put a stop to his nonsense. I have a

young man in my eye who would suit Alicia, a rising young jobber who
does business for me. If the duke or whatever he is persists in his
attentions, a word from you will bring him to his senses."
"I shall punch the beggar's head," promised Hal, and Sir Harry smiled
indulgently.
"If, on the other hand," he said thoughtfully, "you find he is the genuine
article the thing might be arranged amicably--you might make friends
with him and bring him along to Hydeholm. He is either no good at all
or too good for Alicia--it's about time Winnie was off my hands."
Miss Winnie Tanneur was aged about twenty--eight and looked every
year of it.
CHAPTER VII
"Sixty--six has a visitor," reported Hank. The Duke took his feet from
the mantelshelf and reached for his tobacco.
A spell of silence had fallen upon him that morning, that had been
broken only by a brief encounter with the butcher on the quality of a
leg of mutton, supplied on the day previous.
"Has she?" he said absently.
"I said '66', which is of neither sex," said Hank. "This fellow--"
"Oh, it's a man, is it?" said the Duke, brightening up; "what sort of a
man, who is he?"
Hank touched a bell and the grave man--servant appeared.
"Who is the visitor next door?" demanded the Duke.
"A Captain Tanneur, m'lord; militia; and the son of Sir Harry Tanneur
who is related to No. 66."
"You've been gossiping with the servants," accused the Duke.

"Yes, m'lord," said the man without hesitation.
"Quite right," said the Duke approvingly. When the servant was gone
he asked: "Do you ever pine for the wilds. Hank, the limitless spread of
the prairies, and the twinkling stars at night?"
"Come off Pegasus," begged Hank.
"The fierce floods of white sunlight and the quivering sky--line ahead,"
mused the Duke dreamily, "the innocent days and the dreamless
nights."
"No fierce floods in mine," said Hank decisively; "me for the flesh pots
of Egypt, the sinful life."
"Do you ever--"
"Take a walk--you," said Hank rudely. "Say your love--sick piece to
the shop--windows. What are you going to do about Captain
Tanneur--the bold militia man?"
"I suppose," said his grace, "he's been sent for to protect the innocent
girl from the unwelcome addresses of the wicked duke. I'll have a talk
with him."
He strolled into the garden, dragging the step--ladder with him. He
planted it against the wall this time, and mounting slowly surveyed the
next garden.
His luck was in, for the object of his search sat in a big basket chair
reading the Sporting Life.
"Hullo," said the Duke.
Hal looked up and scowled. So this was the persecutor.
"Hullo," said the Duke again.
"What the devil do you want?" demanded Hal with studied ferocity.

"What have you got?" asked the Duke obligingly.
"Look here, my friend," said Hal, rising and fixing his eye--glass with a
terrible calm. "I'm not in the habit of receiving visitors over the garden
wall--"
"Talking about the militia," said the Duke easily. "how is this
Territorial scheme going to affect you?"
"My friend--" began Hal.
"He calls me his friend," the young man on the wall meditated aloud,
"he is ominously polite: he rises from his chair: he is going to begin--
help!"