“That’s a contemptible piece of shuffling,” cried Frank.
Andrew flushed up and frowned.
“Pooh!” he said, laughing it off. “You are tired and cross this morning. What a fellow you are for wanting to quarrel! But we can’t do that, now we’re brethren.”
“No, we are not,” said Frank hotly. “I’ll have nothing to do with the miserable business.”
“Colt kicking on first feeling his harness,” said Andrew merrily. “Never mind, Frank; you’ll soon get used to it.”
“Never.”
“And it’s a grand harness to wear. I say, what’s the good of making a fuss about it? You’ll thank me one of these days.”
“Then you have no conscience,” cried Frank sternly.
“Why, Frank, old boy, you make me feel quite young beside you. What a serious old man you’ve grown into! But if you will have it out about conscience,” he continued warmly, after a glance at each of the doors opening out of the room in which they were, “I’ll tell you this: my conscience would not let me, any more than would the consciences of thousands more, settle down to being ruled over by a German prince, invited here by a party of scheming politicians, to the exclusion of the rightful heir to the throne. What do you say to that?”
“Only this,” said Frank: “that you and I have nothing to do with such things as who ought to be king or who ought not. We’re the Prince’s servants, and we are bound to do our duty to him and his father. If we go on as you propose, we become conspirators and traitors.”