“But, I say, father,” cried Ricardo, “was it not strange about the magic carpet?”
“I told you not to trust to these things,” said the king. “Some enchanter may have deprived it of its power, it may be worn out, someone may have substituted a common Persian rug; anything may happen. You must learn to depend on yourself. Now, be off with you, I’m busy. And remember, you don’t stir without my permission.”
The prince ran off, and presently the sounds of stamping feet and “un, deux; doublez, dégagez, vite; contre de carte,” and so forth, might be heard over a great part of the royal establishment.
CHAPTER VII.
Prince Ricardo and an Old Enemy.
“There is one brute I wish I could get upsides with,” said Ricardo, at breakfast one morning, his mouth full of sardine.
“Really, Ricardo, your language is most unprincely,” said his august father; “I am always noticing it. You mean, I suppose, that
there is one enemy of the human race whom you wish to abolish. What is the name of the doomed foe?”
“Well, he is the greatest villain in history,” said Ricardo. “You must have read about him, sir, the Yellow Dwarf.”
“Yes, I have certainly studied what is told us about him,” said the king. “He is no favourite of mine.”