HORACE. Mr. Pike!

PIKE [apparently not hearing him, hammering at a bolt-head with a monkey-wrench and singing].

"One lies down at Appomattox--"

HORACE [sharply]. Mr. Pike! Mr. Pike, I wish a word with you.

PIKE [looks up mildly]. Hum!

[He moves to the other side of the engine, rubbing handle of monkey-wrench across his chin as if puzzled.]

HORACE. I wish to tell you that the surprise of this morning so upset me that I went for a long walk. I have just returned.

PIKE [regarding the machine intently, sings softly].

"One wore clothes of gray--."

[Then he whistles the air. Throughout this interview he maintains almost constantly an air of absorption in his work and continues to whistle and sing softly.]

HORACE [continuing]. I have been even more upset by what I have just learned from my sister.

PIKE [absently]. Why, that's too bad.

HORACE. It _is_ too bad--absurdly--monstrously bad! She tells me that she has done you the honor to present you to the family with which we are forming an alliance--to the Earl of Hawcastle--her fiance's father--

PIKE [with cheerful absent-mindedness--working]. Yes, sir!

HORACE [continuing]. To her fiance's aunt, Lady Creech--

PIKE. Yes, sir! the whole possetucky of them. [Singing softly.] "She was my hanky-panky-danky from the town of Kalamazack!" Yes, sir--that French lady, too.

[He throws a quick, keen glance at HORACE, then instantly appears absorbed in work again, singing,]

"She ran away with a circus clown--she never did come back--Oh, Solomon Levi!"

[Continues to whistle the tune softly.]

HORACE. And she introduced you to her fiance--to Mr. St. Aubyn himself.

PIKE [looking up, monkey-wrench in hand]. Yes, sir [chuckles]; _we_ had quite a talk about shootin' in Indiana; said he'd heard of Peru, in his school history. Wanted to come out some day, he said, and asked what our best game was. I told him we had some Incas still preserved in the mountains of Indiana, and he said he'd like a good Inca head to put up in his gun-room. He _ought_ to get one, _oughtn't_ he?

[Starts to work again, busily.]

HORACE [indignantly]. My sister informs me that in spite of Lord Hawcastle's most graciously offering to discuss her engagement with you, you refused.

PIKE. Well, I didn't see any need of it.

HORACE. Furthermore, you allege that you will decline to go into the matter with Lord Hawcastle's solicitor.

PIKE. What matter?

HORACE [angrily]. The matter of the settlement.

PIKE [quietly]. Your sister kind of let it out to me awhile ago that you think a good deal of this French widow lady. Suppose you make up your mind to take her for richer or poorer--what's _she_ going to give _you_?

HORACE [roaring]. Nothing! What do you mean?

PIKE. Well, I thought you'd probably charge her [with a slight drawl] a _little_, anyhow. Ain't that the way over here?

[Turns to work again, humming "Dolly Gray."]

HORACE. It is impossible for you to understand the motives of my sister and myself in our struggle _not_ to remain in the vulgar herd. But can't you try to comprehend that there is an Old-World society, based not on wealth, but on that indescribable something which comes of ancient lineage and high birth? [With great indignation.] You presume to interfere between us and the fine flower of Europe!

PIKE [straightening up, but speaking quietly]. Well, I don't know as the folks around Kokomo would ever have spoke of your father as a "fine flower," but we thought a heap of him, and when he married your ma he was so glad to get her--well, I never heard yet that he asked for any _settlement_!

HORACE. You are quite impossible.

PIKE. The fact is, when she took him he was a poor man; but if he'd a had seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, I'll bet he'd 'a' given it for her.

[Starts to hammer vigorously, humming "Dolly Gray."]

HORACE. There is no profit in continuing the discussion.

[Turns on his heel, but immediately turns again toward PIKE, who is apparently preoccupied.]

And I warn you we shall act without paying the slightest attention to you. [Triumphantly.] What have you to say to that, sir?

[PIKE'S answer is conveyed by the motor-horn, which says: "Honk! Honk!"

HORACE throws up his hands despairingly. PIKE'S voice becomes audible in the last words of the song: "Good-bye, Dolly Gray."]

[Enter LADY CREECH and ALMERIC through the gates.]

HORACE [meeting them]. The fellow is hopeless.

LADY CREECH [not hearing, and speaking from habit, automatically].

Dreadful person!

[PIKE continues his work, paying no attention.]

ALMERIC [to HORACE]. Better let him alone till the Governor's had time to think a bit. Governor's clever. He'll fetch the beggar about somehow.

LADY CREECH [with a Parthian glance at the unconscious PIKE]. I sha'h't stop in the creature's presence--I shall go up to my room for my forty winks.

[Exit into the hotel.]

ALMERIC [as she goes out]. Day-day, aunt! [To HORACE.] I'm off to look at that pup again. You trust the Governor.

HORACE [as ALMERIC goes]. I do, I do. It is insufferable, but I'll wait.