The Lost House | Page 3

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Etext scanned by Aaron Cannon of Paradise, California

The Lost House
by Richard Harding Davis
I
It was a dull day at the chancellery. His Excellency the American
Ambassador was absent in Scotland, unveiling a bust to Bobby Burns,
paid for by the numerous lovers of that poet in Pittsburg; the First
Secretary was absent at Aldershot, observing a sham battle; the
Military Attache was absent at the Crystal Palace, watching a foot-ball
match; the Naval Attache was absent at the Duke of Deptford's,
shooting pheasants; and at the Embassy, the Second Secretary, having
lunched leisurely at the Artz, was now alone, but prepared with his life
to protect American interests. Accordingly, on the condition that the
story should not be traced back to him, he had just confided a State
secret to his young friend, Austin Ford, the London correspondent of
the New York REPUBLIC.
"I will cable it," Ford reassured him, "as coming from a Hungarian
diplomat, temporarily residing in Bloomsbury, while en route to his
post in Patagonia. In that shape, not even your astute chief will suspect
its real source. And further from the truth than that I refuse to go."
"What I dropped in to ask," he continued, "is whether the English are
going to send over a polo team next summer to try to bring back the
cup?"
"I've several other items of interest," suggested the Secretary.
"The week-end parties to which you have been invited," Ford objected,
"can wait. Tell me first what chance there is for an international polo
match."
"Polo," sententiously began the Second Secretary, who himself was a
crackerjack at the game, "is a proposition of ponies! Men can be trained
for polo. But polo ponies must be born. Without good ponies----"
James, the page who guarded the outer walls, of the chancellery,
appeared in the doorway.
"Please, Sir, a person," he announced, with a note for the Ambassador
says it's important."
"Tell him to leave it, said the Secretary. "Polo ponies----"
"Yes, Sir," interrupted the page. "But 'e won't leave it, not unless he

keeps the 'arf-crown."
"For Heaven's sake!" protested the Second Secretary, "then let him
keep the half-crown. When I say polo ponies, I don't mean----"
James, although alarmed at his own temerity, refused to accept the
dismissal. "But, please, Sir," he begged; "I think the 'arf-crown is for
the Ambassador."
The astonished diplomat gazed with open eyes.
"You think--WHAT!" he exclaimed.
James, upon the defensive, explained breathlessly.
"Because, Sir," he stammered, "it was INSIDE the note when it was
thrown out of the window."
Ford had been sprawling in a soft leather chair in front of the open fire.
With the privilege of an old school-fellow and college classmate, he
bad been jabbing the soft coal with his walking-stick, causing it to burst
into tiny flames. His cigarette drooped from his lips, his hat was cocked
over one eye;