When Pete Stearns went in quest of a limousine he had, of course, merely employed a figure of speech that seemed to befit the raiment of his fair charge. In his practical mind he knew that it did not matter whether it was a limousine or a lizzie, so long as it was capable of locomotion and was not locked. The grounds through which he now walked were less familiar to him than those which contained the orchard on the other side of the hedge, yet he sensed the general direction of the house that he knew they must contain.

Through the darkening shadows he wended his way confidently; he felt sure that if there was danger ahead he would detect it before falling a victim. At last he emerged from the grove and stepped upon a lawn, where he paused for reconnaissance. Fifty yards from him stood a house. It was large and dark and quiet. For two or three minutes he observed it carefully, but detected no sign of life. There was no other building to be seen; if there was a garage it was probably on the farther side of the house. He was more interested in discovering a garage than anything else.

He walked rapidly across the lawn, intending to pass in what seemed to be the rear of the dwelling. The path he chose carried him near to the end of a broad porch, from which half a dozen steps descended to the lawn. Close to the edge of the top step his watchful eyes observed an object that caused him to slacken pace, then stop. It was a hat.

"I need a hat," thought Pete.

His bare feet were soundless on the steps as he ascended lightly and captured the object of his desire. It was a straw hat with a striped ribbon and by good chance it was an excellent fit.

"I ought to get her a hat," he murmured. "She'll expect it."

It seemed quite safe to explore the porch a bit further, so he moved softly along, avoiding a hammock, a table and several chairs. He was midway the length of the house when he became aware that there was a light within. Its mellow glow reached him through a curtained window. Pete held his breath as he came to a halt, and decided that his next move would be a retreat.

And then he found himself bathed in a flood of illumination that came from directly overhead. Some one within the house had switched on the porch-light!

"Run!" he whispered to himself.

Too late! In front of him a French window was slowly opening. Pete stared at it hypnotically. Wider and wider it swung as he stood there inert, as incapable of flight as though his bare feet were nailed to the porch floor.

And then from out the window stepped a stout gentleman of middle age whose face wore an innocuous and cordial smile. He did not seem to be smiling at anything in particular, but rather at the whole world. Evidently it had been warm in the house, for he was coatless and collarless and his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. Hugged against his bosom with one hand was a bottle in which there was no cork. Swinging loosely in the other hand was a carbonated water siphon.

The stout gentleman's glance rested upon Pete with the utmost friendliness. His smile ceased to be a generalization and became a greeting. He bowed. He winked slowly and ponderously. The winking achievement pleased him so well that he repeated it, and afterward tried it with the other eye, where he again succeeded to his still greater satisfaction.

"Prince," said the stout gentleman, "have a drink."

Pete indulged in a deep sigh of relief.

"Sir," he said, returning the bow, "your hospitality charms me. I don't mind if I do."

"Hold 'em," said the gentleman, proffering the bottle and the siphon. "Have a chair, prince. Back in a minute."

He turned and disappeared through the French window. There was a barely perceptible unsteadiness in his gait, but it did not interfere with his efficiency, for he returned within a few seconds, bearing two glasses. Pete and the gentleman drank to each other punctiliously, the latter waving his glass with a grandiose flourish before he put it to his lips.

"Lil private stock, prince," and the gentleman winked again, this time with the original eye.

"Nectar, sir, if you will permit me to say so," affirmed Pete, with another bow. "But I regret to say that you have made a slight mistake. I am not a prince."

The gentleman smiled knowingly and made a gesture of deprecation.

"'Sall right, old man. My mistake. Liable to run into princes any time round here. Had prince callin' on my daughter 'safternoon. Just as soon have prince round as anybody. I'm liberal. Have li'l drink?"

Pete declined regretfully. His host placed bottle and siphon on a table with meticulous care.

"Listen, prince."

Pete checked him with an upraised hand.

"Merely a viscount, sir."

"Listen, viscount. Play a li'l cowboy pool?"

Pete considered. Clearly it would be inconsiderate to treat so benevolent a host in a churlish manner; yet there was a lady all in lace, sitting in a gloomy summer-house among the trees, who doubtless awaited his return with impatience and perhaps alarm.

"I fear, sir," he said, "it would be an intrusion upon your family."

The stout gentleman shook his head earnestly.

"Nobody home, viscount. No family; no servants. Everybody gone away somewhere. Everybody on a party. I'm on party; you're on party. You and me play li'l cowboy pool."

So saying, he linked his arm affectionately into one of Pete's and led him firmly into the house. He led him through several rooms, pausing in each to press buttons, so that the apartments through which they strolled became ablaze with lights. No ordinary summer cottage was this, Pete learned, as his eyes appraised each successive revelation; it was a mansion.

"Family all in society, viscount," confided the stout gentleman, as he clung to Pete's arm. "All hittin' high spots. Wife, society; daughter, society; son, society. Old man, cowboy pool. C'mon."

While Pete Stearns was conscious of his own informalities of costume, it seemed that his host had not given the matter a thought. The purple and green coat of silk did not appear to have attracted his attention, nor the other garment, that was striped in salmon pink. If the stout gentleman owned the straw hat that Pete had discovered on the porch, he displayed no sign of recognition. He was, in fact, surprised at nothing whatever.

In the billiard room the shaded lights that were suspended over the table did not satisfy him, for he made a complete circuit of the apartment, turning on all the lights in the wall sockets.

"'Smore cheerful," he explained. "Find a cue, prince."

"Viscount, sir."

"My mistake, viscount. Find a cue."

Pete found a cue that suited as to weight. His host bowed until he rocked on his heels and assigned him the honor of opening the game.

For some fifteen minutes they played in silence, the stout gentleman revealing a measure of skill and technique that quite astonished his antagonist. His difficulties seemed to be wholly in measuring angles with the eye; otherwise his game was well nigh faultless and his control of the cue masterly. It was the eye difficulty that eventually compassed his defeat, although Pete was hard put, even with the employment of all his own skill, to nose out a winner.

With the shot that settled the game the stout gentleman flung his cue on the table and embraced his conqueror.

"Viscount," he said, "you're a prince. Firs' man beat me cowboy pool all summer."

"It was but an accident, sir," said Pete modestly.

"Nope. No accident. Strictly on merits. 'Sall right; pleasure all mine. Firs' time ever stacked up against gentleman from Arabian Nights."

From which remark Pete perceived that his host had not been wholly insensible of his costume, although it was evident that he was in no whit surprised by it, nor did he regard it as in any way incongruous.

"I think, sir, if you will pardon me, that I should be taking my leave," observed Pete, as his eye chanced upon a tall clock that stood in a corner.

"What's hurry, prince? Have li'l drink."

But Pete, even under the warm pressure of hospitality, had not forgotten the lady in the summer-house. He felt certain that she was becoming alarmed; he feared that she might even attempt an exploration on her own account.

"Viscount," observed the lord of the manor, once more linking arms, "you're greates' cowboy pool player in world. Extraord'nary! I'm next greates'. Any gentleman beats me welcome anything I got."

They had progressed as far as the library, where his host halted.

"Anything I got," he repeated, with a wave of his arm. "'Sall yours. Anything you see—'s yours. What'll it be?"

It occurred to Pete that so generous an invitation to trespass further upon hospitality should not be ignored.

"If you could loan me a pair of shoes," he suggested, "I would be greatly indebted to you."

"Dozen pair shoes!" said the stout gentleman earnestly.

"And a hat—a lady's hat."

"Lady's hat? Lady's——"

His host looked him in the eye, placed a finger alongside his nose and winked roguishly.

"Lady's hat—for princess?"

"For the viscountess, sir."

"Dozen hats!" exclaimed his host warmly. "Dozen hats for viscountess. Back in a minute."

He rushed up-stairs at an alarming speed and Pete heard him charging around on the floor above. The gentleman had an unaccountable way of keeping his word almost to the letter. It was little more than a minute before he was back again, his arms full of hats and shoes. He dumped them all on the floor and bowed.

"All yours, prince."

Pete was not long in finding a pair of shoes that would stay on his feet, but the selection of a hat from among the fragile heap was a task that perplexed him. His difficulty was not ignored by his host, for the stout gentleman suddenly reached into the pile, yanked forth something that was broad brimmed and lacy and thrust it into his hands.

"There's hat for princess!" he exclaimed. "My compliments. Have a li'l drink?"

He hugged Pete's arm delightedly as he led the way back to the porch. The bottle and the siphon inspired him to confidences.

"Viscount, observe bottle, please. Listen. Last bottle Scotch in Larchmont."

He lifted the bottle and stroked it gently.

"Last bottle anything in Larchmont," he added.

Pete viewed the bottle with a new and reverent light in his eyes.

"Sir," he said, "knowledge of that fact overwhelms me with the true measure of your hospitality."

"'Sall right, prince, old man. 'Sall yours. Take bottle."

But there were some things that even Pete Stearns could not bring himself to do. He sighed and shook his head. To what unknown heights of generosity might this genial gentleman arise—this gentleman who would even renounce the last bottle in Larchmont?

"Have li'l drink, anyhow."

And it was a very small drink that Pete poured for himself, for he had discovered that within him lay a conscience.

"Where's princess?" demanded his host abruptly.

Pete answered with an indefinite wave of the hand.

"She awaits me," he said.

The stout gentleman winked again, knowingly, and thrust an elbow into the ribs of his guest. He was clinging to Pete's arm. Pete hesitated. He wanted something more; in fact, he had not yet obtained that for which he had gone in search. Yet why hesitate? Surely a gentleman who offered his last bottle would not quibble over an automobile.

"Do you happen, sir, to have a car that I could borrow for a short time?"

"Car? Le's see." His host thought for several seconds. "Nope, all cars out with family. All cars out in society. All cars——"

He paused, then smiled broadly yet mysteriously.

"Sh! This way, prince."

Although there was nobody in the house, the owner thereof tiptoed his way carefully along the porch toward the rear, with a constant beckoning and a warning for caution. He created in Pete the impression that they were now upon an errand of distinctly clandestine character and must manage the affair accordingly.

Down the steps to the lawn and around the corner of the house they went, in single file. The stout gentleman paused near a small porch that evidently constituted an entrance to the kitchen. He looked around cautiously in the semidarkness. Bidding Pete to remain exactly where he stood, he stole across to the side of the porch with catlike steps, fumbled there for a moment, and returned, trundling a vehicle.

It was a motor-cycle, and attached to it was one of those peregrinating bath-tubs known as a side car.

"Sh! Last car in Larchmont, viscount. Belongs to gardener. 'Sall yours."

In the dim light Pete examined it hastily. He mounted the saddle and threw the switch. He pumped the starting pedal. At the third thrust there was a sharp explosion, and then a rapid fire that cut the night. He let the engine race for half a minute, then throttled down and leaned over toward his benefactor.

"Sir," he said, "you are the noblest of men. You do not know just what you have done, but it is a service far beyond price."

"Viscount," answered his host, with a deep bow, "pleasure's all mine. Any gentleman beats me cowboy pool—any gentleman honors me cowboy pool—any gentleman from Arabian Nights——" A thought occurred to him. "Want you to meet family. Stay and meet family. Stay and meet society. Stay——"

Pete interrupted him hastily.

"At any other time, sir, I should be charmed. But, as I told you, there is a lady awaiting me."

"Forgot lady. My apologies. Forgot all about lady. My apologies to lady."

"And so I bid you good night, sir. And may Heaven reward you," said Pete fervently.

The stout gentleman clung to his hand.

"Want to see princess," he observed. "Want to salute princess. Want to extend hospitality——"

"If you will go up on your porch," said Pete, "I will drive the princess by. She will be charmed to see you, sir, and in her behalf I now thank you for all your goodness."

He threw in the clutch and the motor-cycle started forward with a leap. Straight across the lawn Pete headed it, bringing it to a halt at the edge of the grove. Leaving the engine running, he leaped from the saddle and ran in among the trees, in the direction of the summer-house.

Mary Wayne was standing in the doorway as he approached.

"Where—where have you been?" she demanded.

"I'll explain later," he answered briefly. "Hurry. I've got a car."

"You stole——"

"It was presented to me. Come on."

He seized her hand and urged her forward at a run.

As they reached the panting machine, Mary uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"That thing!"

"What do you want for nothing. Get in. It's all right."

"But it's so conspic——"

He lifted her and dumped her into the bathtub.

"That thing down at your feet is a hat," he said. "Put it on. Now, there's a gentleman waiting to wave good-by at us. He's the most important man in the world. He thinks you're a princess. As we go past, I want you to kiss your hand to him. It's highly necessary. He expects it."

The motor-cycle was under way again. Pete guided it in a wide curve until he was headed toward the house. Then he dashed with full speed, straight for the illuminated veranda.

Standing at the edge of the porch was the stout gentleman, his body gently swaying. His arms seemed to be engaged in an incantation, for they waved rhythmically. In one hand was the bottle.

Pete swerved the machine within a few feet of the porch and waved elaborately. The gentleman was saying something, but they could not hear him. Mary waved her hand as they swept by.

"Throw him a kiss!" ordered Pete sharply. "Confound it, you're a princess! Wait, now; I'll make a circle and go by again."

The machine curved out across the lawn and Pete laid a course that would once more enable them to pass in review. The gentleman on the porch continued his incantation. He was chanting, too.

As they slowed down opposite him, Mary half rose from her seat and threw him a kiss. The waving arms halted abruptly. The stout gentleman's eyes became round with pleasure. He gripped the rail and leaned forward.

"Princess——"

He made a courtly gesture and a treasured object flew from the gesturing hand. There was a crash of glass on the gravel walk below. The gentleman blinked, lurched forward, swung back and sat heavily on the floor of the porch. He leaned his forehead against the rail and burst into manly tears.

Pete gave his chariot a full charge of gas.

"The last bottle in Larchmont!" he gasped chokingly.