up Mount Royal to the luncheon pavilion.

The slowness of this climb was, in a sense, his undoing. As his car
neared the top of the hill, two Montreal flappers, whose extreme youth
was only exceeded by their extreme daring, sprang on to the footboard
and held him up with autograph books. He immediately produced a
fountain pen, and sitting once more on the back of the car, wrote his
name as the car went along, and the young ladies from Montreal clung on
to it.

This delightful act was too much for one of the maidens, for, on
getting her book back, she kissed the Prince impulsively, and then in a
sudden attack of deferred modesty, sprang from the car and ran for her
blushes' sake.

From the luncheon pavilion the Prince was whirled to the Royal train,
and in that, after a recuperative round of golf at a course just
outside Montreal, he set out for the comparative calm of the great West.

CHAPTER XI

ON THE ROAD TO TROUT

I

The run on the days following the packed moments of Montreal was one of
luxurious indolence. The Royal train was heading for the almost fabled
trout of Nipigon, where, among the beauties of lake and stream, the
Prince was to take a long week-end fishing and preparing for more
crowds and more strenuosity in the Canadian West.

Through those two days the train seemed to meander in a leisurely
fashion through varied and attractive country, only stopping now and
then as though it had to work off a ceremonial occasionally as an
excuse for existing at all.

The route ran through pleasant, farmed land between Montreal and North
Bay and Sudbury, and then switched downward through the bleak nickel
and copper country to the beautiful coast of Lake Huron on its way to
Sault Ste. Marie. From this town, which the whole Continent knows as
"Soo," it plunged north through the magnificent scenery of the Algoma
area to Oba, and, turning west again (and in the night), it ran on to
Nipigon Lake.

It was a genial and attractive run. We sat, as it were, lapped in the
serenity of the C.P.R., and studied the view. Wherever there were
houses there were people, to wave something at the Prince's car. At
one homestead a man and his wife stood alone near the split-rail fence,
the woman curtsying, the man, who had obviously been a soldier,
flag-wagging some message we could not catch, with a big red ensign; an
infinitely touching sight, that couple getting their greeting to the
Prince in spite of difficul