‘Well, fifteen shillings is three crowns, and you haven’t got one.’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Well, then, you won’t have it long.’
‘I shall have it to the end of my life.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ retorted the Prince.
‘But you can’t help it.’
‘Why not, pray?’
‘Well, you can’t, unless you scalp me,—it’s the crown of my head I mean.’
‘Well, then, I’ll have your head cut off.’