sen, but the royal family of Sweden. And the
Hapsburgs? The Emperor of Austria belongs to them. And Romanoff? The
Czar of Russia would answer to that if he voted. And there are also the
Hohenzollerns and the Bourbons and the Braganzas. And then," he
finished, simply, "there is _Rutgers_!"

"It seems to me," put in Grace, coldly, "that I have something to say--"

"Empress, you don't. Just look," interrupted H. R. "Of course, the date
is subject to your approval. I didn't have any luncheon. Will you tell
Frederick to bring some tea and a few sandwiches--"

"Damnation!" shrieked Mr. George G. Goodchild. "Is a man to be insulted
in his own home? Get to hell out of here with your sandwiches!"

"George!" rebuked Mrs. Goodchild, placidly. She never frowned.
Wrinkles.

"Yes, George!" maniacally mimicked her husband. "It's sandwiches!
Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Everywhere! Yesterday I discharged my
secretary. I told him to send out for a chicken sandwich for me and
I heard him give the boy the order: 'Son-in-law for Mr. Goodchild.
Cock-a-doodle-do!' At this week's meeting of our directors Mr.
Garrettson asked me: 'How is the King of the Sandwiches? Living at your
house yet?' And the other jackasses all laughed. _Sandwiches!_"

He turned to his daughter, and fearing that she was in the conspiracy,
asked her, vehemently: "Do you wish to be known all your life as the
Queen of the Sandwiches? Do you? Do you wish your humorous friends to
say to you, Grace, will you have a caviare husband?"

"No!" replied Grace. Fame was fame, but ridicule was Hades.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Goodchild.

"Tell Frederick," said H. R., fiercely, "to bring in fifteen Rutgerses,
if you prefer to call them that."

"That isn't funny," rebuked Grace, coldly. "I don't think you are
accustomed to surroundings--"

"No; it's hospitality. I'm starving."

"You'll have sandwiches for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, my child,"
Mr. Goodchild told Grace, angrily but intelligently. "In the
newspapers!"

"Of course I won't marry him!" said Grace, decisively. "It's
preposterous."

H. R. went up to her. She shook her head. He spoke very seriously:

"Grace, when people tell you that I have given free sandwiches to New
York they mean that I have taken the poorest of the poor, the pariahs of
commerce, the despised of the rabble, poor human derelicts, souls
without a future, without a hope, worse than dirt, poorer than poverty,
and I have made them _me