Plucritus opened the gate easily, and when we had gone through shut it carefully.
“These are the grounds of a near relative and friend of mine,” he explained. “When we planned our houses we arranged our dungeons so that he should take one class of prisoners and I the other. We have passages leading underground, very beautifully decorated, but I thought we would come as we have done, because this is a scene and a time I like.”
Similar terraces led us to the palace, and as we drew near we heard sounds of revelry and music coming from its lighted halls. Many doors and windows stood wide open, so that we could clearly hear the noise within.
“Now look here,” said I, standing at the bottom of a flight of steps. “I hope you still remember my apparel. If I go in there in this state I must be given a few minutes first in which to prepare myself for an all-round onslaught.”
Plucritus stood still and laughed.
“You’re a confounded nuisance,” cried he. “I would say a ‘damned’ nuisance, but the critics would pronounce me ‘forcibly feeble.’”
“Beware of the critics,” I advised. “They are like children sitting in the market-place.”
“How so?”
“They are never right. Nothing pleases them.”
“You never tried them with butter and sugar mixed.”