tempt to meet Horace's eye.

"Was it, though?" said Horace, in a white rage. "I don't want to be
inquisitive, but I should like to know what I've done to deserve it?"

"Why trouble thyself with the reason? Let it suffice thee that such
honour is bestowed upon thee."

By this time the chariot had crossed Cheapside and was entering King
Street.

"This really won't do!" urged Horace. "It's not fair to me. Either I've
done something, or you must have made the Corporation _believe_ I've
done something, to be received like this. And, as we shall be in the
Guildhall in a very few seconds, you may as well tell me what it is!"

"Regarding that matter," replied the Jinnee, in some confusion, "I am
truly as ignorant as thyself."

As he spoke they drove through some temporary wooden gates into the
courtyard, where the Honourable Artillery Company presented arms to
them, and the carriage drew up before a large marquee decorated with
shields and clustered banners.

"Well, Mr. Fakrash," said Horace, with suppressed fury, as he alighted,
"you have surpassed yourself this time. You've got me into a nice
scrape, and you'll have to pull me through it as well as you can."

"Have no uneasiness," said the Jinnee, as he accompanied his _protege_
into the marquee, which was brilliant with pretty women in smart frocks,
officers in scarlet tunics and plumed hats, and servants in State
liveries.

Their entrance was greeted by a politely-subdued buzz of applause and
admiration, and an official, who introduced himself as the Prime Warden
of the Candlestick-makers' Company, advanced to meet them. "The Lord
Mayor will receive you in the library," he said. "If you will have the
kindness to follow me----"

Horace followed him mechanically. "I'm in for it now," he thought,
"whatever it is. If I can only trust Fakrash to back me up--but I'm
hanged if I don't believe he's more nervous than I am!"

As they came into the noble Library of the Guildhall a fine string band
struck up, and Horace, with the Jinnee in his rear, made his way through
a lane of distinguished spectators towards a dais, on the steps of
which, in his gold-trimmed robes and black-feather hat, stood the Lord
Mayor, with his sword and mace-bearers on either hand, and behind him a
row of beaming sheriffs.

A truly stately and imposing figure did the Chief Magistrate for that
particular year present: tall, dignified, with a lofty forehead whose
polished temples reflected the l