resume of their disclosures also after they
leave. The Thibetan Prince will only be here two weeks longer."

"Then old Fraser will take me to his heart again." Alaric Hobbs
reflected on his vain attempt to try the Tunguse, Chinook, Zuni, Apache,
Sioux, and Esquimaux dialects on the handsome Prince Djiddin, whose
Oriental magnificence was even now the despairing admiration of the two
pretty housemaids.

"My august master cannot speak to any one but the great scholar whom he
came here to see. He soon returns to his retirement in his palace in the
Karakorum Mountains. And he never will emerge thence!" solemnly said
the Moonshee, adding in a whisper: "He may, by the grace of Buddha, be
re-incarnated as the Dalai-Lama. He springs from the loins of kings. I
dare not break in upon his awful silence." The Moonshee's significant
gesture of drawing a hand across his own brown throat had silenced the
pushing American professor.

"By hokey!" he groaned, "it is hard to have to play second fiddle to
this purblind old Scotchman." Alaric Hobbs had been a reporter upon that
dainty sheet, The New York Whorl, in one of his "emergent" periods, and
so he writhed in agony at being left at the post. "I must be content
to tap old Fraser when he comes back from London with that embarrassing
lump of beauty, his millionaire niece. She would make a fitting spouse
for this Prince Djiddin, for she never speaks a word--at least to me.
And this swell Prince, who comes 'only one in a box,' gets the same
'frozen hand.' Funny girl, that. But I must yield to old Fraser's
moods." Alaric Hobbs then descended to the tap-room and instructed the
pretty barmaid in the manufacture of his own favorite "cocktail," an
American drink of surpassing fierceness and "innate power," which had
once caused "Bald-headed Wolf," a Kiowa chieftain, to slay his favorite
squaw, scalp a peace commissioner, and chase a fat army paymaster till
he died of fright in his ambulance, after Alaric Hobbes had incautiously
left a bottle of this "red-eye" mixture with his aboriginal host on
one of the "exploring tours." A powerful disturbing agent, the American
cocktail!

But for all Miss Nadine Johnstone's seeming aversion to men, and in
spite of Prince Djiddin's inability to utter a word of any jargon save
ninety-five degree Thibetan, "far above proof," on this very morning
while the "Moonshee" was transcribing under the watchful eyes of the
excited Andrew Fraser the disclosures of t