“Gad,” said Charles, with a swagger, “what are a few extra shillings to Parliament? Here, my man.” He placed a hand in a pocket, but found it empty. “No; it is in the other pocket.” He placed his hand in another, only to find it also empty. Then he went through the remaining pockets, one by one, turning them each out for inspection–his face assuming an air of mirthful hopelessness as he proceeded. He had changed his garb for a merry lark, but had neglected to change his purse. “Devil on’t, I–have–forgotten–Odsfish, where is my treasurer?” he exclaimed at last.
THE DECEPTION.
“Your treasurer!” shrieked the landlord, who had watched Charles’s search, with twitching eyes. “Want your treasurer, do ye? Constable Swallow’ll find him for ye. Constable Swallow! I knew you were a rascal, by your face.”
Charles laughed.
This exasperated the landlord still further. He began to flutter about the room aimlessly, bill in hand. He presented it to Charles and he presented it to Nell, who would have none of it; while at intervals he called loudly for the constable.
“Peace, my man,” entreated Nell; “be still for mercy’s sake.”
“Good lack, my lady,” pleaded the landlord, in despair, “good lack, but you would not see a poor man robbed by a vagabond, would ye? Constable Swallow!”
The situation was growing serious indeed. The King was mirthful still, but Nell was fearful.