Will you hold it feudally from the Provost of Hammersmith?
You have only to do him homage by putting his left arm in his overcoat and then marching home in state." "No, your Majesty; I'd rather not," said the Provost of West Kensington, who was a pale young man with a fair moustache and whiskers, who kept a successful dairy.
The King struck him heartily on the shoulder.
"The fierce old West Kensington blood," he said; "they are not wise who ask it to do homage." Then he glanced again round the room.

It was full of a roaring sunset of colour, and he enjoyed the sight, possible to so few artists--the sight of his own dreams moving and blazing before him.

In the foreground the yellow of the West Kensington liveries outlined itself against the dark blue draperies of South Kensington.

The crests of these again brightened suddenly into green as the almost woodland colours of Bayswater rose behind them.

And over and behind all, the great purple plumes of North Kensington showed almost funereal and black.
"There is something lacking," said the King--"something lacking.