"The King!" said Spitz to Fritz quickly. "He must not see him."
"Too late," said Fritz, as a young man bounded lightly out of the bushes.
I was thunderstruck! It was as if I had suddenly been confronted with a mirror—and beheld myself! Of course he was not quite so good-looking, or so tall, but he was still a colorable imitation! I was delighted.
Nevertheless, for a moment he did not seem to reciprocate my feeling. He stared at me, staggered back and passed his hand across his forehead. "Can it be," he muttered thickly, "that I've got 'em agin? Yet I only had—shingle glash!"
But Fritz quickly interposed.
"Your Majesty is all right—though," he added in a lower voice, "let this be a warning to you for to-morrow! This gentleman is Mr. Razorbill—you know the old story of the Razorbills?—Ha! ha!"
But the King did not laugh; he extended his hand and said gently, "You are welcome—my cousin!" Indeed, my sister-in-law would have probably said that—dissipated though he was—he was the only gentleman there.
"I have come to see the coronation, your Majesty," I said.
"And you shall," said the King heartily, "and shall go with us! The show can't begin without us—eh, Spitz?" he added playfully, poking the veteran in the ribs, "whatever Michael may do!"
Then he linked his arms in Spitz's and mine. "Let's go to the hut—and have some supper and fizz," he said gayly.