I have sunk back in this chair, stricken with baffled fury.

Now again, please." Buck's mouth opened like a dog's, but before he could speak another herald appeared at the door.
"The Lord High Provost of Bayswater," he said, "desires an audience." "Admit him," said Auberon.

"This _is_ a jolly day." The halberdiers of Bayswater wore a prevailing uniform of green, and the banner which was borne after them was emblazoned with a green bay-wreath on a silver ground, which the King, in the course of his researches into a bottle of champagne, had discovered to be the quaint old punning cognisance of the city of Bayswater.
"It is a fit symbol," said the King, "your immortal bay-wreath.

Fulham may seek for wealth, and Kensington for art, but when did the men of Bayswater care for anything but glory ?" Immediately behind the banner, and almost completely hidden by it, came the Provost of the city, clad in splendid robes of green and silver with white fur and crowned with bay.

He was an anxious little man with red whiskers, originally the owner of a small sweet-stuff shop.
"Our cousin of Bayswater," said the King, with delight; "what can we get for you ?" The King was heard also distinctly to mutter, "Cold beef, cold 'am, cold chicken," his voice dying into silence.
"I came to see your Majesty," said the Provost of Bayswater, whose name was Wilson, "about that Pump Street affair." "I have just been explaining the situation to his Majesty," said Buck, curtly, but recovering his civility.