The clocks all ceased. But the great gilt clock had not struck.
Suddenly as a crash of thunder the king passed from chuckling happiness to anger, violent and uncontrolled. He clambered to his feet. He stamped. He swore in the language of beach combers and decayed mariners, inexcusable, abominable. He shook his fists at Sadler.
“My clock don' go!” he shrieked. “Arrr! She don' go!” and snatching up a fruit basket, he fell, in utter and abandoned rage, beating, kicking, yelling, swearing, scattering fruit, upon the frightened and frizzle-haired henchmen and henchwomen, who fled with tumult and wailing, from room to room, from piazza to far piazza, and beyond into the forest, where the noise of pursuit died distantly away.
I was amazed. Mrs. Ulswater sprang up.
“Is that a king!” she said indignantly, and started for the piazza followed by myself, by Susannah with the cat, and by Sadler in deprecation. “He ought to be spanked! That's what he ought,” said Mrs. Ulswater.
“You're right, ma'am,” said Sadler. “Ain't a doubt it would be a good thing, and I was thinking, when you spoke, as how, when Kolo was gone and things was settled, I'd just get that introduced quiet like into the regular court ceremonial, putting it under the heading of 'Official Care of the King's Person,' which I was thinking, ma'am, as how it was my recollection a strap got there better'n a shingle. Yes'm.”
Mrs. Ulswater stopped on the edge of the porch, mollified.
“Would you really do that?”
“Yes'm.”
“Well,” she said, “if you'll catch that king and bring him down to tea this evening, we'll think it over by that time. Goodness! How do you know Kolo is any better?” And we returned to the Violetta.