"Bang!" went the locked door, kicked in by Moore, who rushed into the room with a yell, followed by Mr. d.y.k.e.

"Out of the way, darlin'," he whispered to Bessie. "I 've got to give myself an awful flaking."

Immediately the poet began a struggle all over the room with an imaginary adversary.

"You would, would you?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Then take that, you raparee! And that, and _that_. Help! Mr. d.y.k.e! My, but he is strong."

He seized the table and upset it, then danced around the room like one possessed, dealing terrific blows to the air. He clutched the contents of the cupboard and sent the china crashing in fragments on the floor.

The chairs he beat up and down and back and forth against the walls.

For all the world it sounded as though a mad bull were rushing around the room dealing destruction on every side. Then he put his fist through two panes of gla.s.s and paused in his performance, standing by the window with heaving chest as the mob led by Sweeny rushed into the attic.

"Oh, friends," he cried between gasps, "you come too late."

"Too late for what, Mr. Moore?"

"To help me, you spalpeens. A big devil, six feet and a half high and a mile broad--I mean a mile high and six feet broad--Oh, a curst big lump of a lad--climbed into the window and laid violent hands on this lady, my future wife, who was here alone--"

"The strange laddybuck," cried Sweeny. "The omadhaun we 're afther now."

"He locked the door so I could n't get in and laid hold of her. Didn't he, Bessie?"

The girl lied shamelessly.

"And I screamed," she finished, glad to add a little truth to her falsehood.

"I kicked in the door and grabbed the villain. Mr. d.y.k.e and I both grappled with him, but he was too much for us and beat us down and leaped out on the roof."

The crowd surged up to the window with a howl of rage, and Buster bobbed into view on a distant gable.

"There he is now," cried Dabble, who was one of the mob.

"Aye, aye, after him."

Sweeny took command.

"You four, Dabble, Blount, Williams and Lake, out of the window and over the roofs again. The rest of us will guard every door in the neighborhood."

The chosen four dropped from the window, and the crowd, Sweeny still in the lead, rushed out and downstairs as frantically as they had come up, leaving the attic to Moore and his guests. The poet sat down on an upset chair and breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's a comedian I am," said he. "Bessie, how does Drury Lane do without me?"

"I don't know," said the girl. "I am sure I could n't."

"My, oh, my!" panted Moore, "but you are learning the right things to say at the right time very quickly, Bessie."

The Prince emerged from his hiding-place.

"Bravely done, Mr. Moore," said he, laughing a little. "Egad, I 'd not trade this evening for any other in my experience."

"No?" asked Moore.

"Not I, sir. You rid us of them very neatly."

"For a while, your Highness. They may return."

"True," said Wales, "so we had best lose no time in getting help."

"Your Highness is right," said the poet, beginning to restore the room to something like its old appearance. "Father-in-law, run out and--"

"Let me arrange this," interrupted the Prince. "Mr. d.y.k.e, if you will carry this ring to the house of Sir Percival Lovelace, you will find him at supper. Tell him of my predicament and say I bid him take such steps as he may deem best to extricate me from this misadventure without betraying my ident.i.ty."

Mr. d.y.k.e took the ring held out to him by the Prince.

"I 'll make haste," he said, and toddled out and down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Wales accepted the chair which Moore placed for him.

"Sir," said he, "you have a talent for intrigue."

"Ah, Sire," said Moore, ingenuously, "if it were not disrespectful, I would return the compliment. Your Highness must have pa.s.sed an exciting evening."

"Quite true, Mr. Moore, but I fancy I can do without such excitement in the future."

"I rejoice to hear you say that, your Highness," said Moore, sincerely.

"Indeed, Mr. Moore? And why so, if I may ask."

"Because," said the poet so winningly that it was quite impossible for even a prince of the blood to take offence, "'The First Gentleman of Europe' is too proud a t.i.tle to be lightly risked."

Wales grew red and bit his lip.

"I accept your reproof," he said. "It is not undeserved."

"Not reproof, your Highness. Friendly advice, nothing more."

"As you would have it, Mr. Moore," responded the Prince, wearily.

Meanwhile Bessie had found the teapot to be one exception to the general ruin wrought of Moore's household utensils.

"Would it please your Highness to have a cup of tea?" she asked, timidly.

"It will delight me much, Mistress d.y.k.e. May I inquire when you intend to honor Mr. Moore by becoming his wife?"

Bessie flushed up prettily and looked at her lover.

"The wedding would take place to-morrow if I could afford it," said Moore, righting the table and brushing it off with his coat-tail.

"Then I take it you cannot afford it?" said his Highness.