The Missing Prince

“Oh, to-morrow, of course,” was the cry; “the sooner the better.”

So a notice was drawn up as follows, and the Advertiser General was instructed to have it printed and posted on all the walls some time that night, however late it might be.

NOTICE!

Wereas His Majesty, King Robert the Twenty-first, has mysteriously disappeared and there is no successor to the throne, an will take place to-morrow at the House of Words. Each person to have one vote. Polling papers can be had of the Town Clerk and must be filled up and returned by two o’clock in the afternoon, when the Poll will be closed.

ELECTION

OF A

SUITABLE KING

By Order,

JOSHUA DOBBS,

Lord High Adjudicator

And as soon as this business was concluded the meeting broke up, and every one hurried away to try and secure votes for himself.

The news spread like wild fire, and as he went back to the Palace, Boy could see excited groups of people, and even animals, discussing the matter, and on opening his window when he reached his apartments he disturbed a large black cat who had just finished writing a placard on which Boy could discern the words: —

VOTE

FOR

MR. THOMAS CAT,

A SICK WIFE AND SEVEN SMALL KITTENS

Boy shut the window and went to bed.

CHAPTER IX. – THE ELECTION

BOY was awakened very early the next morning by Caesar Maximilian Augustus Claudius Smith (called Thomas for short), who remarked with a haughty air while setting the breakfast things, —

“I don’t suppose you will have me to wait upon you to-morrow morning, sir.”

“Why not?” inquired Boy.

“I shall very likely have been made King by that time,” remarked the footman with his nose in the air. “You can still stay at the Palace, though, if you like.”

“Really!” exclaimed Boy. “Have you been elected then?” he asked, forgetting that the Election did not take place till two o’clock in the afternoon.

“Not yet,” admitted the footman, “but I’m pretty sure to be, because of my name, you know.”

“Smith?” inquired Boy.

“No, the others,” said the footman impatiently. “Cæsar was a king, I’ve heard, and so was Augustus, so was Maximilian, and so was Claudius, I believe.”

“No, they were all emperors,” corrected Boy. “Cæsar, Augustus, and Claudius, were emperors of Rome, and Maximilian was Emperor of Germany. We heard all about them in our History class last term.”

“Are you sure, sir?” asked the footman mournfully.

“Yes, quite!” replied Boy decidedly.

“Dear me,” cried the poor man, “I’m afraid that I don’t stand quite as much chance as I thought I did. What a pity! I’ve ordered my crown and things too,” he continued. “Never mind! perhaps I may be elected after all. I suppose, sir, if I offered to vote for you, you wouldn’t vote for me, would you?”

“I don’t see how that would be of much use,” exclaimed Boy.

“Well, every vote helps, you know,” said Cæsar Maximilian Augustus Claudius Smith (called Thomas for short). “Shall I go and get the polling papers?”

Boy thought that it couldn’t possibly do much harm, so just to please him he told the footman that he might go and get them; and when he returned a few minutes later they were both solemnly filled up and taken back to the Ballot Box. Then Boy finished his breakfast and started for a walk.

The streets were filled with excited groups of people discussing their own prospects of being elected King, and the walls were covered with posters of all shapes and sizes begging for votes. One enterprising man was offering a thousand pounds to every one who would vote for him.

“Why, however can he pay them all?” exclaimed Boy to a person in the street.

“Oh! people are never expected to keep the promises made at elections,” explained the man. “Now I don’t promise anything at all, but you only just vote for me and see what I’ll do for you if I’m made King.”

“I can’t,” said Boy. “I’ve already voted.”

“Oh, bother!” cried the man, “you’re no good to me, then,” and he hurried on to the next person and began to beg for his vote.

Boy was soon surrounded by people bothering him to vote for them and was quite glad to escape down a by-street where there was scarcely any one to be seen, and where his attention was attracted by a curious-looking sign affixed to a house worded like this —

“What a funny sign!” thought Boy. “I wonder what it means?” and he was still wondering when a Butcher’s Bill passed. He was a very tall boy and carried a butcher’s tray on his shoulder. Of course, he was whistling – all butcher boys do – but he stopped when he saw Boy and came up to where he was standing.

“Can you tell me what that means, please?” asked Boy, pointing to the sign.

“Can’t you read?” asked the Butcher’s Bill.

“Not Greek,” replied Boy. “That is Greek, isn’t it?” he asked; for it looked to him very much like an inscription that he had once seen carved over a big building in London, and which his Uncle had told him was Greek.

“Greek! your grandmother!” exclaimed the Butcher’s Bill rudely. “It’s Upside Downish.”

“What’s that?” asked Boy.

“I’ll tell you if you promise me your vote,” said the Butcher’s Bill.

“I’m very sorry,” replied Boy, “but I’ve already given it.”

“Then stand on your head and find out for yourself,” cried the rude Butcher’s Bill, shouldering his tray and walking off again whistling loudly.

“I wonder what he means?” thought Boy, staring at the letters; he could make nothing of them, though, and was just going to walk away when he saw the Advertiser General looking out of one of the windows above the signboard.

“Come in,” he called. “I want to speak to you very particularly.”