But the flapper saved him from that.  She came in, quiet but businesslike, and in a low yet distinct voices aid she wished it to be perfectly over at once.  She did not relax her grasp of Bean’s arm after she approached him, and he presently knew that something solemn was going on in which he was to be seriously involved.

“Say, ‘I do,’” muttered the old gentleman, and Bean did so.  The flapper had not to be told.

There followed a blurred and formal shaking of his hand by those present, and the big sister whom he had not noticed before came up and kissed him.

Then he was conscious of the flapper still at his side.  He turned to her and was amazed to discover that she was blinking tears from her eyes.

“There, there!” he muttered soothingly, and took her in his arms quite as if they were alone.  He held her closely a moment, with little mumbled endearments, softly patting her cheek.

“There, there!  No one ever going to hurt you.  You’re dear; yes, you are!”

He was much embarrassed to discover those staring others still present.  But the flapper swiftly revived.  It seemed to be perfectly over for the flapper.  She announced that every one must hurry.

Hurriedly, with every one, it seemed, babbling nonsense of remote matters, they sat at a table, and ate of cold food from around a bed of flowers.  Bean ate frankly.  He was hungry, but he took his part in the talk as a gentleman should.

They were toasting the bride in champagne.

“Never drink,” protested Bean to the proffered glass.

“Won’t happen every day, old top,” suggested the waster.

He drank.  The sparkling stuff brought him new courage.  He drained the glass.

“I knew they were trying to keep me off that board of directors,” he confided to Breede, “specially that oldest one.”

“That your first drink s’morning?” asked Breede in discreet tones.

“First drink I ever took.  Had two eggs’s morning.”

“What board of directors?” asked Breede suspiciously.

“Fed’l Express.  I wanted that stock for a technical purpose—­so I could get on board of directors.”

Breede looked across the table to Grandma.  There seemed to be alarm in his face.

“Given it up, though,” continued Bean.  “Can’t be robbing tired business men.  Rather be a baseball king if you come down to that.  I’ll own three four major league clubs before year’s out.  See ’f I don’t!  ’S only kind of king I want to be—­wake me up any time in the night and ask me—­old George W. Baseball King.  ’S my name.  I been other kings enough.  Nothing in it.  You wouldn’t believe it if I told you I was a king of Egypt once, ’way back, thous’n’s years before you were ever born.  I had my day; pomps and attentions and powers.  But I was laid away in a mummy case—­did that in those days—­thous’n’s and thous’n’s of years before you were ever born—­an’ that time I was Napoleon ...”