n the
throne--and I'm sure I don't know that you will with the way things are
going and all the worry I've had--but if you do, and are still of the
same mind about it, then you may come to me and I will give you my
consent."

A quiet, rapturous smile passed over the face of Max. "May I have that
in writing, sir?" he said.

The King was rather taken aback, and a little affronted. "Do you doubt
my word?" he demanded.

"Not in the least, but it is your consent I have to get. You might have
a stroke, or lose your memory; you might even die, and there should I be
left stranded. My love is so great that I can let it run no risks. And
therefore, sir, if you will be so good, a promissory note to take effect
in two months' time."

"You won't tell your mother?" said the King, halting, pen in hand.

Max shook his head sagely. "Nobody shall know," said he. "No filter
could contain such news as this." He took the precious document from the
King's hand, folded it, and put it away.

"By the way, sir," he said, "in a week or two I shall be sending you my
book."

"I am afraid it is going to shock people," said his father.

"Not nearly so much as this." Max touched his breast pocket and smiled.
"I will confess now, sir, that I really had hardly a hope: if I said so
just now, I lied. And if a son may ever tell his father that he is proud
of him, let that pleasure to-day be mine."

They parted on the best of terms. "I wonder," thought the King to
himself, "whether he will be quite so pleased and proud two months
hence."

His countenance saddened, and he sighed. "Poor boy," he said. He was
very fond of Max.

CHAPTER XIV

HEADS OR TAILS

I

It is no use pretending that all history is equally interesting, even
though the facts which it contains are necessary for an understanding of
what follows. And I am well aware that much of this history so far has
been very dull. We have been exploring interiors, moldy institutions,
cast-iron conventions, and one poor human mind,--with a tap on the back
of its head as an incentive--wriggling to find a way out. But from this
point on you see him wriggling no more; the slow wave of his resolve has
crept to its crest and now breaks into foam.

A month has now passed by; and four weeks hence the enamored Max will be
coming for his answer--Max asking for the impossible thing. Like the man
who set fire to the tail of his night-shirt in order to stop the
hiccoughs, so now John o