“Pooh! You needn’t have been alarmed, for there wasn’t a Lord High Executioner on the premises, because I asked,” declared the Rhymester.
“No, but do you know,” said his Majesty, “I’ve found out since, that he lives at the bottom of our street, and mends shoes for a living—he does a little executing still on the sly, for I have seen his bill in the window, ‘Orders executed with promptness and dispatch.’ I asked him one day what class he executed most, and he said that his connection was principally amongst the ‘Uppers.’ He seems a very kind man though, and not only executes orders, but heals them too, poor souls! He charges 1s. 3d. for healing. His education has been sorely neglected, I am afraid, however, for he spells it ‘heeling.’”
“Did you see the Armoury at the Tower?” asked Boy.
“Yes, and there was another instance of deception,” declared the Doctor-in-Law.
“What do you mean?” asked Boy.
“Well, what is an armoury?” inquired the Doctor-in-Law.
“A place where arms are kept, I suppose,” replied Boy.
“Just so, and there wasn’t an arm in the place except our own,” said the Doctor-in-Law wrathfully.
“Why, they call guns and things arms,” said Boy, laughing.
“Oh! do they?” remarked the Doctor-in-Law sarcastically. “Why don’t they call things by their proper names then? they might as well call them legs, or turnips, or paraffin oil—bah! I’ve no patience with such folly!”