"They call me King Waan.[1] Yes, indeed! I am a king, if I do appear so humble. Besides, external pomp is out of fashion. I am a constitutional, bourgeois, democratic king. Here, Bangeling![2] Come here! This is my most trusty helper—my right hand, in fact."
Johannes shuddered at the sight of Bangeling—a shrinking, stooping, pale, and loathsome youngster. His eyes were red-rimmed, and glanced shiftingly right and left—never straight in front. His lean knees knocked against each other, and every moment his rag-covered body twitched with terror, and he cried: "Oh, Heaven! Oh, God! Now you will catch it! It is too late! Too la-a-ate!"
To hear and see this repeatedly, without becoming frightened oneself, was not easy; but Johannes pressed his flower close to his breast and cried:
"Wistik!"
"Ay, ay!" he heard his good little friend shout.
But the voice sounded from above, and far away. And suddenly Johannes had a very distinct sensation of falling, fast as lightning, down fathomless depths, although everything around him remained the same.
"Are we falling down below?" he asked.
King Waan gave Johannes a falsely-sweet smile. "One should not ask such impolite questions when making a visit," said he.
"Get away!" cried Johannes to Bangeling, who was now standing close beside them, twitching and whining. Then a throng of frightful figures pushed forward, trying to approach him, grinning, twisted, misformed faces—some with big purple noses, others with drooling lips—still others pale, and passive, with closed eyes, but with scornful muttering mouths.
Johannes knew these figures well; he had often when a child seen them in his dreams. And doubtless you also have seen many of them in the night—just before the measles broke out, or after you have eaten too much pie for dinner.