CHAPTER XI
HIS MAJESTY AT THE SEASIDE
I sent Mrs. Putchy and General Mary Jane down to the house, which I had engaged on the “Lees” at Folkestone, the day before we were to go, in order to see that everything was ready for us.
“The only thing that is wrong is the kitchen chimney, and that smokes, sir,” said Mrs. Putchy, in answer to my inquiry on the night of our arrival. “I think that we had better have the sweep in the morning, sir.”
“Very well, Mrs. Putchy, I’m sure you know best,” I replied, and thought no more of the matter.
Early in the morning, however, I was awakened by screams and cries proceeding from the lower part of the house.
“Help! help! Burglars! Fire and police! Thieves!” screamed a voice, and hastily dressing myself, I rushed out into the passage, and was confronted by the Rhymester, who had evidently just jumped out of bed, and who, though it was broad daylight, bore a lighted candle in one hand, and a pair of fire tongs in the other.
His teeth were chattering with fright, and his knees were knocking together from the same cause.
“What’s the matter,” I asked in alarm.