Widdershins stumbled out of the bar, clutching his cap and cane.

“I say, I don’t think those gentlemen had ever *heard* of the Order of the Elevator. Otherwise- Blevins? Are you listening? Now where the dickens has he got off to?”

A shout came from the bar as the workers pitched his assistant flat onto the Martian soil.

“Ah.” Widdershins patted his pockets. “Have you got my diplomatic passport?”

Blevins reached up, holding a small booklet with a crown printed in gold on the cover. “Here, sir.”, he croaked hoarsely.

“I say, did those rapscallions knock the wind out of you? Rummy bad show, that is.”

“A bit, sir”, replied Blevins, hand still held up. Widdershins harrumphed, and began to pace about.

“Remember, my good man, these Yanks are all the same, no matter which planet. Coarse, direct, rowdy. Never can be too careful with this lot, even if they are our allies for the moment. No respect for anything right and proper.”

Blevins, still trying to catch his breath, held up his hand again when Widdershins neared him, but gave up when he kept on walking.

“And that’s why we’re here. There’s a spark of civilization in all men, even here under the rule of the perfidious rabble. If any change is to be made it must start with poor, misled men like those in that bar. All we must do is set a good example, and we’ll have a planet full of gentlemen in no time. Lord knows our work won’t be easy, I mean those brutes in there have replaced the proper words to God Save The King with some rubbish about workers and people, but by Jove someone has to do it. For King and Country!”

“For King and Country, sir!” gasped Blevins weakly.

“And for Pete’s sake get up, man, one can’t set an example rolling in the dirt.”