"Nonsense!"
"Quite true, old chap. You must have been painting your face with your gunpowdery fingers."
"Come to my bedroom then, and let's have a good wash."
Harry followed willingly, for he felt as if the operation would be delightful, and the next minute they were in the young prince's thoroughly English-looking bedroom, though it did not look at its best, for the curtains had been dragged aside, heavy boards nailed across the lower part of the window like a breastwork, and a couple of stout mattresses fixed up within the boards to make them less vulnerable to bullet or spear. But the rest of the room was as it should be, and a quarter of an hour was pleasantly spent with soap, water, towels, and brushes.
"Hah!" ejaculated Harry at last; "that was a treat; but I should have liked a regular bath."
"Let's whip the rebels first," said Phra, who looked bright and refreshed. "Come and have breakfast."
He led the way to the handsome saloon where the table was spread, and Mike was busy arranging a few things and looking clean and smart—even to being fresh shaved—as if nothing were wrong.
But the boys only glanced at him, and were directly after being warmly greeted by plenty of familiar friends. For about half the white defenders were gathered there, while the other half were on guard keeping careful watch. There was not a single enemy to be seen, though Sree and two men who had been scouting at daybreak had returned to announce that there were a great many of the rebels in hiding among the bushes and trees just beyond the outer wall, especially outside the grounds, as if to take care that no one should escape from the palace, where they were hemmed in.
A minute later the King came in with about half a dozen of the faithful officials, Mr. Kenyon, and the doctor.
His Majesty smilingly greeted all his white friends, and crossed then to the boys, with whom he shook hands warmly, after which the excellent breakfast was discussed, during which the King turned to Mr. Kenyon.