Jimmy Martin, couchant on a chaise longue in the royal suite of the Congress Hotel, had difficulty in persuading himself that he was wide awake and in full possession of all his senses. Opposite him sat the pseudo prince Rajput Singh in his shirt-sleeves, looking decidedly unromantic. The East Indian was talking rapidly and the inner import of the tale he was unfolding was of such a nature that Jimmy was aquiver with eager curiosity and aglow with anticipatory delight. He did not notice that the other’s eyes glinted unpleasantly as he spoke and that there was something positively repulsive about the smugly complacent manner in which he detailed the progress of his love affair with the wealthy sister of Junius P. Easton. All Jimmy could think of at the moment were the tremendous publicity possibilities inherent in the culmination of this incongruous romance.

“As you see, she is very much head over heels with me,” said the prince, smiling mockingly, “is that foolish lady with the yellow hair. I have made a most successful attack on her young affections, eh, Mr. Martin? Is it not so? I have but to bend my small finger and she will do what I ask. I have not made myself waste any time. Do you think I have, Mr. Martin?”

“Say,” said Jimmy enthusiastically, as he rose to a sitting posture, “you’re the quickest worker I ever saw in action. A glance of the eye and a twist of the wrist and they’re ready to break the old home ties and kiss the pet canary good-bye. You’ve certainly got winnin’ ways. There’s no use in denyin’ that. When’d you see her last?”

“This afternoon I swear my undying love for this lovely lady in quiet corner of her drawing room. We have made exchange of rings. How much you think this one is worth, eh, Mr. Martin?”

The fictitious heir to the throne of Hydrabad reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and took therefrom a diamond ring which flashed brilliantly as he handed it to the press agent. Jimmy examined it critically.

“Oh,” said he carelessly, “this is just a gaudy little trinket that isn’t worth more than about fifteen hundred dollars or so. I’ve got to give you credit. You’re immense. Where do we go from here?”

Prince Rajput Singh looked puzzled.

“I do not mean to go,” he said. “I mean to stay for a little while.”

“Of course, of course,” said Jimmy. “You don’t understand. What I mean is—what’s the next move? You said somethin’ a little while ago about the double harness stuff—about marryin’ this old gal, I mean. When are we goin’ to pull the finale?”

“Whenever we wish, Mr. Martin. I have, as I say, but to bend my small finger. It will make a nice publication for you in the journals, will it not?”

“You said somethin’ that time, old Frank J. Bombay,” returned Jimmy who was now in the grip of one of his moods of exultant exuberance. “This one’ll land in places where press agents fear to tread. They’d stop the presses for it, if necessary, and miss the mails. They’d leave out ads for it. And when it’s all over you’ve got to do me a favor. You’ve got to keep on with your tour and take Mrs. Princess Rajput Singh along with you as a bally-hoo. Why, say, we’ll land so much stuff in every town that the agent of every other outfit’ll just naturally pack up and move on to the next stand without even leavin’ a forwardin’ address.”

Jimmy’s swarthy friend nodded in response to this enthusiastic outburst. Then he narrowed his eyes and the mean, sordid soul of him peered through them as he spoke.

“This Mrs. Princess, as you call her, that is to be,” he inquired cautiously, “has really much money in her own name? I have asked many questions from others and I find general opinion that she has. Do you know?”

“Just a few millions, that’s all,” responded Jimmy nonchalantly. “Just about five or six or somethin’ like that. Father left it to her. You’re in softer than you realize, you old Hindu son-of-a-gun, you, and you’ve got to go along on this honeymoon trip I’m plannin’. You owe a whole lot to yours truly, Mister Man. If it wasn’t for me you’d be makin’ six changes of costume a night for twenty-five bones a week. Don’t forget to remember that.”

“Of course I am very much thankful to you, my fine, good friend, most thankful and most very much in favor of your honeymoon plan.”

Jimmy arrogated to himself the task of arranging the details of the projected marriage. He fixed upon an elopement to a nearby suburb as being the best method of giving the affair a news slant that would add to the story what are technically known in newspaper circles as “feature values.” It would also, he figured, prevent the possibility of any last minute interference by some trouble-making relative.

It was agreed that he was to meet the prospective bride on the morrow in the guise of a close friend of Prince Rajput Singh and was to go over with both parties a detailed plan of campaign which he was to map out in the interim. The prince was to bend his small finger and announce that impetuous and headlong haste was absolutely essential to his peace of soul and was to insist upon the ceremony being performed within twenty-four hours.

When Wilkins, the assistant manager, met Jimmy in the lobby a few minutes after the latter had left the royal suite, he couldn’t help noticing the wild exultant light that shone in the press agent’s eyes.

“Well, well,” he remarked cordially, “you look as if you’d just made a clean-up or something. Can’t you let me in on the good news?”

“Not for about forty-eight hours,” returned Jimmy, “and then I’m goin’ to let the whole U.S.A. in on it at the same time. I’ve got somethin’ on the fire that’s just about ready to serve that’ll make folks everywhere forget to eat their ‘ham and’ one of these mornin’s.”

Jimmy permitted Prince Rajput Singh to proceed him by half an hour to the Easton home on the following morning. He thought it would be better to have the blushing bride-to-be apprised of the rough outlines of the elopement plan without the disconcerting presence of an intruder. Mr. J. Herbert Denby, a little disturbed and flustered at being assigned to such a task, was even then arranging with a clergyman in the next county to preside at the marriage which was to take place in the parlor of the rectory and all the other essential details had been carefully worked out.

Jimmy had collaborated with the prince on a telegram which was to be sent by the bridegroom to Junius P. Easton immediately after the ceremony. It would, he felt, give an added touch of the picturesque to the proposed program of events: “Your sister has done me the high honor of becoming my princess,” it read, “and all Hydrabad will kneel in proud homage at her feet. I have cabled my revered father for his august blessing. May we not hope that you will shower your honorable good wishes on us.”

The prince and Miss Fannie were in the music room when Jimmy was announced. She had just been singing “Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes” to her own accompaniment on the piano and she was as radiant as a June morning. She wore a tea gown of baby blue, embroidered with pink rosebuds, and her bleached hair was done up into a billowy cluster of tiny curls which swayed with every movement of her head and which somehow accentuated the essential maturity of her foolish fat face. Jimmy gave an almost audible gasp when he crossed the threshold of the door. He was prepared for the worst, but he had not expected to find himself face to face with a being out of the comic supplement. She ran to meet him, laughing sillily.

“How do you do,” she said gayly, extending a pudgy hand. “It isn’t necessary for the dear prince to introduce you. He’s told me all about you and I know that we’re going to be kindred souls. You must vibrate on our plane, you know. I’m certain you must because you are his friend and one’s friends always vibrate on one’s plane. Don’t they, Rajjy, dear?”

“Of course, my jasmine bud,” replied the prince from the sheltered embrace of a huge arm chair. “Mr. Martin is of our inner circle. He shares the secrets of our hearts, sweet lily. He is my councilor and chosen guide. Let us bid him sup coffee with us which you will pour with your much-to-be adored hands.”

Jimmy cast a roving eye in the general direction of his dark-skinned fellow conspirator and was greeted by the latter with an expressive wink, which was not visible to Miss Fannie, who was bustling about a silver tray on which was a pot of steaming coffee. She poured and served it with a fluttering air of heavy coquetry which irritated the press agent beyond measure and which made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. She was such a simple, trusting, foolish soul that he didn’t have the heart to enlarge upon the merits of the bridegroom-to-be in the expansive and flowery fashion he had decided upon on the way from the hotel. He remained strangely silent for a time listening to an exchange of preposterous love words between this oddly assorted and incongruous pair and wishing himself a long distance away.

“And when shall we visit dear Hydrabad, Rajjy?” Miss Easton was saying. “I can see myself under a silken awning by the shores of the little lake you spoke of—the lake by your summer palace I mean, and I can see you beside me and the native servants are salaaming and serving us with a wonderful feast. We must go there at once, Rajjy dear, at once. My soul cries out for the sound of those ‘tinkly temple bells’ that Kipling wrote about. It just cries out for them.”

Prince Rajput Singh stirred uneasily in his chair and leaned forward.

“In time, sweet nightingale,” he said suavely. “I must make a continuation of my lectures and then I must visit your wonderful California. It will please me to be your honored guest at your home there. Then, when we have tired of the sunshine and the flowers we shall make long journey to my home-land. The spell of this new country is on me and until it passes I must remain here. Besides, I must await a salutation from my father. That breach must be healed, fair bul-bul.”

Miss Fannie sighed resignedly.

“Whatever you say, Rajjy dear,” she said. “You shall stay in California as long as you wish and I’ll write to that father of yours if you don’t hear from him. I think it’s terrible the way the Nazir is treating the prince, don’t you, Mr. Martin?”

The bridegroom-to-be coughed nervously and rose quickly from his chair, breaking into the conversation before Jimmy could stammer a reply.

“Fair one,” he said, gripping her by the arm, “my friend tires of these much repeated references to my own poor self. We have more important matters to discuss. Let us make busy with them.”

Thus pressed, Jimmy enlarged upon the detailed arrangements which he had completed for the exciting events of the following day, arrangements which included provisions for everything from the marriage license to the formal and ceremonious delivery to all the newspaper offices of elaborately engraved announcement cards by the Hindu attendants of Prince Rajput Singh. Miss Fannie gushed her approval of the program and was positively gurgling with delight as she escorted him to the door.

“The prince is so proud,” she said, when she was out of ear-shot of that dignitary, “that he can’t bear to have me say anything about the perfectly outrageous way in which he has been treated by his father. I think it’s perfectly scandalous, don’t you?”

“I’m not very clear about it myself,” returned the press agent guardedly. “What’d the old gink—I mean the old man do?”

“Oh, dear, I thought you knew. Why, he cut off his allowance for a perfectly trivial something or other—he’s never told me exactly—and here he was on the verge of being unable to keep up appearances and the dignity of his station. It must have been most humiliating. Poor Rajjy cried when I forced it out of him. He’d been so depressed that I knew something must be the matter, and I just made him tell me. I was so glad to help.”

Jimmy cocked his head at the last sentence and looked up at her quickly.

“So you helped him, eh?” he inquired.

“Just a little,” she replied. “What are a few thousand dollars if they will bring peace to a troubled spirit? Peace is everything, Mr. Martin, quite everything worth while. And I’m going to keep the poor, dear prince peaceful for ever and always and aye. Good-bye, dear Mr. Martin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jimmy went down the gravel path in a thoughtful mood. Somehow he felt rather fed up with Prince Rajput Singh.