A British Chicken in New York - Part 2

"And so we began to eat the pemmican, which we were taught to make by the Eskimo's you know." Andrew paused to sip his tea. "Dreadfully cold though. I was assisting Sir Edmund Hillary and, to bolster the morale of our men, I began to do scrimshaw on whale bones we had lying about."

"Did you reach the Pole, then?"

"Oh, heh heh, yes, yes we did. As a matter of fact, Nelson took my picture standing next to Hillary beneath the Union Jack at the Pole itself."

"Nelson?" These biscuits were great, especially with orange marmalade.

"Lord Nelson MacKenzie, the duck I mentioned earlier."

"Oh yes, you were watching butterflies for him."

"Observing, my good man, scrupulously observing. I was seeking the Thymelicus lineola and the Apatura iris to be precise."

Andrew spread some calf's-foot jelly on his biscuit, taking a large bite once he had done so.

"Did I mention that Her Majesty requested an audience with Lord Nelson and myself, upon our return to Great Britain?"

"No!"

A broad smile spread across his face. "The Queen herself. And the Duke of Edinburgh and Edward VIII was there as well. I always admired Edward's fashion sense. We wore the same size shoe, you know."

He paused to motion for our waitress. "It was a formal affair that day mind you, what with the Queen granting Lord Nelson and myself as Knight Grand Cross of the Most Distinguished Order of St. Michael and St. George."

He laughed as he added,  "You should see Philip and Edward on the Old Course at St. Andrews. Quite the duffers they are."

I hastily snatched the check from Andrew's wing. "No my friend, I'll pay."

"Nonsense! I put our lunch on my running account when I arrived. This is merely for my records."

"Why thank you, sir."

"Not at all, my good man, not at all." he assured me with a smile.