The first American King

For some moments after the Colonel had left the room the three men sat in silence. Then General Mainwarren turned to the Professor.

“You will forgive me if my words have been too blunt,” he said courteously; “but students of sociology agree that the conditions of the present epoch had their origin in your day; that such origin can be distinctly traced back; and that with the men of your time lies the responsibility for whatever exists to-day.”

“And you, I trust, will pardon any undue warmth on my side,” replied the Professor, “but this I must say; however much you may be disposed to blame the people of my day, you, personally, if you will permit me to say so, seem disposed to carry out measures far more arbitrary and drastic than were ever adopted in our time.”

“You refer to the measures I spoke of in relation to the coal supply?” asked General Mainwarren.

“Yes. Certainly you don’t claim that God, or Nature—call it what you will—placed those deposits exclusively for your benefit and that you can deal with them absolutely as you will, regardless of the rights, interests or welfare of humanity in general?”

“It was ill-advised,” retorted the General, slowly and with emphasis, “for you to raise that point. If you will remember, it was in your time that that very point was first set up.”

“I fail to recall——”

“Surely not! Wasn’t it in your day that the claim was for the first time advanced that these very coal deposits were vested in certain hands by divine appointment and that the right to manage such properties must be left solely and entirely to the discretion of those whom the Almighty had so selected? Wasn’t this question of divine right advanced, for the first time in the history of the Republic, in your day and—successfully maintained?”

“How successfully maintained?”

“Can you even question! I have studied carefully the history of the time and I at least know my facts. Wasn’t the situation then critical enough? The operators withheld the output. The people were perishing from cold. Death stalked abroad. Had not the State Government ample power to declare that the public health and safety required the seizure of those lands, with compensation, of course, to the owners? This sovereignty right of eminent domain was invoked when it was a question of putting through a new street, or creating a right of way for some quasi-public corporation. But when it came to exercising the right against a powerful corporation, it seems your suffering people feared to even whisperingly advocate the measure. So,” continued the General, “the people were permitted to languish and die and the theory of divine right took its birth and, as you perceive, has flourished apace since then.”

“By George! there’s a good deal of truth in what you say!” exclaimed Kearns.

“When did these events occur to which you have referred?” questioned the Professor.

“Early in the present century,” replied the General.

“We must distinctly disclaim responsibility for anything occurring after June the tenth, nineteen hundred,” declared the Professor, with a smile.

“True, I had forgotten that!” replied General Mainwarren with a laugh.

“But what I don’t understand,” said the Professor, again grown serious, “is that you, who seem to so thoroughly grasp and understand these evils, should be willing to actively engage in their perpetuation.”

Before General Mainwarren could reply to this home-thrust, the door opened and Colonel Cuming reappeared.

“Can you imagine,” he exclaimed with evident excitement, “the errand of the royal messenger?”

“Oh, to hurry Somebody on his journey, of course—before we’ve had half a chance of enjoying his society,” pouted Beatrice, who had followed the Colonel into the room. “A summons to Court——”

“A summons to Court—that part is right,” interrupted the Colonel, “but you haven’t guessed rightly as to whom. The message is this: ‘His Majesty commands Colonel Sir Maynard Cuming to repair at once to Court and to bring with him his notable guests, Professor Walter Stuart Dean and Mr. Thomas Kearns, the details concerning whose remarkable experiences His Majesty has learned with much interest.’ What do you say to that?”

Both the Professor and Kearns stood agape with astonishment. Beatrice’s voice was the first to break the silence.

“And do I go, too, papa?”

“Certainly, my dear—if you wish.”

“If I wish! Well, yes; I decidedly do. Just think of the fun of going to Court and seeing cousin Dorothy. My cousin, Dorothy,” she added, as an explanatory interjection for the benefit of the Professor and Kearns, “is one of the maids of honor to the Queen.”

“Yes,” added General Mainwarren, “and she is as popular at the Court as she is beautiful, which in this case is saying much.”

“Ah, my dear,” exclaimed the Colonel wistfully, “you haven’t seen Dorothy since you were quite a little girl. I fear you may find things somewhat changed. Dorothy may not be inclined to devote so much attention to my little country bud as in the old days.”

“Oh,” said Beatrice with enthusiasm, “I am convinced Dorothy will never change toward me. She’s not that kind. When do we start?”

“To-morrow.”

“To-morrow! Oh, how shall I ever be able to get ready! I must be off to look after things. I hope I shan’t appear before the Court and Dorothy quite like a dowdy!” And she pirouetted out of the room.

“Forgive her, gentlemen,” said the Colonel indulgently, “she’s only a child yet, you know. But, tell me what you think of this news I bring.”

“Think!” replied the Professor; “what are we to think. It’s impossible to imagine what we can be needed for—except, perhaps, as curiosities. I’m quite unfamiliar with the atmosphere of a Court and I think I may truthfully say that my friend Kearns is equally so. I don’t know whether we should go.”

“And I think I may truthfully say,” declared Kearns, with a laugh, “that I have had an extensive experience with courts, though not of this precise character. Still, like the Professor, I am in doubt as to whether we ought to go. I’ve no particular liking for figuring as a curiosity.”

“It would never do to refuse the royal command,” said the Colonel. “Oh, by the way, there is something I had nearly forgotten. His Majesty has especially inquired as to the health of Mr. Kearns and will receive him in special audience immediately after his arrival at the Court.”

“Well, well,” exclaimed the Professor with light sarcasm, “let me congratulate you, my friend. You seem to be basking in the sunshine of royal favor.”

But Kearns sat with bent brows, apparently in deep thought. A moment later he sprang lightly to his feet.

“Yes,” he exclaimed with determination, “we’ll go. I’ve been there before, you know.”

“Where?” asked the Professor. “To the Court?”

“No,” answered Kearns grimly, “not to the Court, but I’ve had experiences of this kind before. In the old days there were lots of times when the rich and the grand solicitously inquired as to the health of Mr. Thomas Kearns and were graciously pleased—it used to be ‘exceedingly pleased’ or ‘eagerly anxious’ in those days—to receive him in special audience. My experience tells me that when the rich and the great and the mighty are suddenly seized with a vivid interest in my health, joined to an anxiety to see me in special audience, it is safe to gamble there are special reasons therefor. In the classic language of my day: ‘There is something doing’—some cash, or jewels, or maybe a lady gone astray and Thomas Kearns is needed to fix the difficulty, or solve the puzzle.”

“You think,” said the Professor, “that——”

“That there is some trouble at Court, or some danger which threatens the King upon his throne,” said Kearns with conviction.

“I shall not be astonished if you were right,” said General Mainwarren slowly.

The rest of the day was spent in preparations for the departure. Not least amongst these preparations was the selection for the Professor and Kearns, of a wardrobe which would modernize them in dress, at least. Some further instruction as to the changes which had taken place and as to the methods and manners of the Court were also given, with General Mainwarren and the Colonel as instructors. Interspersed with matters of Court etiquette, they learned the details of the great war recently so successfully closed between Russia and the Allies—the United States and Great Britain—in which, after many fierce struggles and an invasion resembling in many details that of the great Napoleon, the power of the fierce, barbaric Colossus of the North had finally been crushed.

At dinner that evening, Beatrice, full of life and spirits, was in joyous anticipation of the journey before them. Her prattle kept the party in merry mood, all except General Mainwarren, who seemed somewhat thoughtful and preoccupied.

“We will enjoy our coffee and cigars in the music room,” said the Colonel to the Professor and Kearns, when dinner was over. “You shall indulge in a treat that was unattainable in your times.”

He led the way to a spacious apartment adjoining the library—an apartment from walls of which protruded a number of giant-like trumpets.

“There,” said the Colonel, pointing to two of the larger instruments, “we have direct connection with the Haymarket Theatre, in London, and also with the Covent Garden Theatre. Those other two instruments connect with two opera houses in Paris. I cannot treat you to English, or to French opera. Owing to the difference in time, neither of these cities is in action at its theatres at this moment. I can, however, let you hear some of the leading attractions in New York.”

“Yon mean to say,” exclaimed the Professor with rapt interest, “that you are practically in telephonic communication with the principal cities of the world?”

“Hardly that,” answered the Colonel modestly, “since my music room is not large enough to permit of it, but it could be done. As it is, I am in touch with London, Paris, and several of the principal cities in this country. Now, listen to this. I am going to connect with the Folly Theatre, in New York. They have a revival on there of an old operetta; quite a favorite, I believe, in your time.”

“What is its name?” asked Kearns.

“Dolly Varden,” replied the Colonel effusively; “Dolly Varden, the title rôle of which, if I recall aright, was created by that charming artiste of your day, Glaser—the glorious Glaser, whose name has come down to us as the queen of comedy of the Western world.”

As the Colonel finished speaking, he turned a rubber-covered knob in the wall beside one of the instruments and instantly there floated through the room the strains of “The Lay of the Jay,” from Edwards’ captivating operetta. Sweetly and clearly music and words floated into the room:

As the song ended, Kearns and the Professor were visibly affected.

The minutes passed. Still they listened, entranced, until the close of the opera. Then came the sounds of a moving multitude, joined to the playing of the band.

“The audience is leaving,” remarked the Professor regretfully, “and the orchestra is playing the air ‘My Country ’Tis of Thee.’ Thank God! You have, at least, retained that old, familiar song.”

“You mistake!” said General Mainwarren solemnly. “It is no longer known by that name.”

“What, then?” gasped the Professor.

“God Save our Gracious King!” said the General.