Captain Travis’s consular outfit consisted of one full dress and one undress United States uniform.  Albert put on the dress-coat over a pair of white flannel trousers, and looked remarkably brave and handsome.  Stedman, who was only eighteen and quite thin, did not appear so well, until Albert suggested his padding out his chest and shoulders with towels.  This made him rather warm, but helped his general appearance.

“The two Bradleys must dress up, too,” said Albert.  “I think they ought to act as a guard of honor, don’t you?  The only things I have are blazers and jerseys; but it doesn’t much matter what they wear, as long as they dress alike.”

He accordingly called in the two Bradleys, and gave them each a pair of the captain’s rejected white duck trousers, and a blue jersey apiece, with a big white Y on it.

“The students of Yale gave me that,” he said to the younger Bradley, “in which to play football, and a great man gave me the other.  His name is Walter Camp; and if you rip or soil that jersey, I’ll send you back to England in irons; so be careful.”

Stedman gazed at his companions in their different costumes, doubtfully.  “It reminds me,” he said, “of private theatricals.  Of the time our church choir played ‘Pinafore.’”

“Yes,” assented Albert; “but I don’t think we look quite gay enough.  I tell you what we need—­medals.  You never saw a diplomat without a lot of decorations and medals.”

“Well, I can fix that,” Stedman said.  “I’ve got a trunkful.  I used to be the fastest bicycle-rider in Connecticut, and I’ve got all my prizes with me.”

Albert said doubtfully that that wasn’t exactly the sort of medal he meant.

“Perhaps not,” returned Stedman, as he began fumbling in his trunk; “but the King won’t know the difference.  He couldn’t tell a cross of the Legion of Honor from a medal for the tug of war.”

So the bicycle medals, of which Stedman seemed to have an innumerable quantity, were strung in profusion over Albert’s uniform, and in a lesser quantity over Stedman’s; while a handful of leaden ones, those sold on the streets for the Constitutional Centennial, with which Albert had provided himself, were wrapped up in a red silk handkerchief for presentation to the King; with them Albert placed a number of brass rods and brass chains, much to Stedman’s delighted approval.

“That is a very good idea,” he said.  “Democratic simplicity is the right thing at home, of course; but when you go abroad and mix with crowned heads, you want to show them that you know what’s what.”

“Well,” said Albert, gravely, “I sincerely hope this crowned head don’t know what’s what.  If he reads ’Connecticut Agricultural State Fair.  One mile bicycle race.  First Prize,’ on this badge, when we are trying to make him believe it’s a war medal, it may hurt his feelings.”