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 shall dine to-day out on the lawn, so there is no question of evening clothes; you can go as you are. I’ve telegraphed for a tailor; no need for anxiety, my dear sir. Everything will be arranged by tomorrow. So.”

It was now Prokop’s turn to open his eyes wide. “What tailor? What does this mean?”

“It will be—a particular honour—for us,” the Prince concluded and gave Prokop his lifeless fingers.

“What does this mean?” raged Prokop when they were outside in the passage and seized Carson by the shoulder. “Tell me now, man, or”

Mr. Carson neighed like a horse and slipped out of his grasp like a street urchin. “Or—what?” he laughed and flew off, bouncing like a ball. “If you can catch me I’ll tell you everything, honestly.”

“You clown,” thundered Prokop, furious, and set off after him. Mr. Carson, still neighing, flew down the stairs and slipped past the row of armoured knights into the park. There he squatted down like a hare in mockery of his pursuer. “Well,” he cried, “what will you do to me?”

“I’ll smash you to a jelly,” Prokop burst out, falling on him with his full weight. Carson slid away, squeaked with delight and leapt about the lawn like a hare. “Quick,” he sang out, “here I am,” and again he slipped out of Prokop’s hands and cried “I see you!” from behind the stump of a tree.

Prokop again set off after him silently with clenched fists, as serious and threatening as Ajax. He was already panting for breath when, looking