eople of Notting Hill have
accepted our compensation. But the ineffable Wayne sticks out over
Pump Street. Says he's Provost of Notting Hill. He's only Provost of
Pump Street."
"A good thought," replied Auberon. "I like the idea of a Provost of
Pump Street. Why not let him alone?"
"And drop the whole scheme!" cried out Buck, with a burst of brutal
spirit. "I'll be damned if we do. No. I'm for sending in workmen to
pull down without more ado."
"Strike for the purple Eagle!" cried the King, hot with historical
associations.
"I'll tell you what it is," said Buck, losing his temper altogether.
"If your Majesty would spend less time in insulting respectable people
with your silly coats-of-arms, and more time over the business of the
nation--"
The King's brow wrinkled thoughtfully.
"The situation is not bad," he said; "the haughty burgher defying the
King in his own Palace. The burgher's head should be thrown back and
the right arm extended; the left may be lifted towards Heaven, but
that I leave to your private religious sentiment. I have sunk back in
this chair, stricken with baffled fury. Now again, please."
Buck's mouth opened like a dog's, but before he could speak another
herald appeared at the door.
"The Lord High Provost of Bayswater," he said, "desires an audience."
"Admit him," said Auberon. "This _is_ a jolly day."
The halberdiers of Bayswater wore a prevailing uniform of green, and
the banner which was borne after them was emblazoned with a green
bay-wreath on a silver ground, which the King, in the course of his
researches into a bottle of champagne, had discovered to be the quaint
old punning cognisance of the city of Bayswater.
"It is a fit symbol," said the King, "your immortal bay-wreath. Fulham
may seek for wealth, and Kensington for art, but when did the men of
Bayswater care for anything but glory?"
Immediately behind the banner, and almost completely hidden by it,
came the Provost of the city, clad in splendid robes of green and
silver with white fur and crowned with bay. He was an anxious little
man with red whiskers, originally the owner of a small sweet-stuff
shop.
"Our cousin of Bayswater," said the King, with delight; "what can we
get for you?" The King was heard also distinctly to mutter, "Cold
beef, cold 'am, cold chicken," his voice dying into silence.
"I came to see your Majesty," said the Provost of Bayswater, whose
name was Wilson, "about that Pump Street affair
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