Real Russian cigarettes were smoked, real
Russian vodka was sipped; the Czar's health was drunk; no bombs were
thrown, no bonds were offered for sale, the Russian loan was not
discussed; the Japanese servants were not present, having been given
a half holiday. Oh, it was a little triumph, that tea! Blakely's
mother was showered with congratulations. The "Choicest Flowers"
vied with one another in assurances of their distinguished approval.
Indeed, they were all crazy about it--except the grand duke. Blakely
said the grand duke was bored to death, and that he had led him off
to the bar and given him a whisky-and-soda out of sheer pity. From
that time on the duke stuck to him like a postage stamp, so that
Blakely had an awful time escaping that night to dine with Dad and
me. He told us all about the tea at dinner, and I was surprised to
learn (I hadn't seen him yet) that the duke was just Blakely's age,
and, as Blakely put it, "a very decent sort." Not that there is any
reason why a grand duke shouldn't be a decent sort, but Rumor was
busy just then proclaiming that this particular grand duke was a
perfect pig.
The next day I had a chance to judge for myself. It seems the duke
noticed me as I got into my automobile for my morning ride, and
after finding out who I was, sent for Blakely and demanded that I be
presented to him.
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