“Perhaps I shall,” said his elder; “but I should like to try. Sometimes, my boy, the tactus eruditus will succeed when main force fails.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk Latin,” said the boy impatiently, and he snatched his hand from the sword-hilt, leaving it vibrating and swaying up and down where it stuck in the wood.
“Worse and worse,” said the doctor quickly, as he caught it by the guard. “Why, Denis, you don’t deserve to possess a blade like that. There,” he continued, as, apparently without an effort, he drew the rapier from its imprisonment and handed it back to the owner. “There; sheathe your blade, and if his Majesty is awake, tell him that I beg an audience.”
“And if he is asleep?” said the lad.
“Let him rest,” replied the other, with a smile. “Let sleeping—kings lie. They are always better tempered, my lad, when they have rested well. Take that as being the truth from an old philosopher, Denis, my boy, and act accordingly. You and I don’t want to lose our heads through offending the master we serve.”
“I don’t,” cried the boy sharply.
“Nor I,” said the doctor, with a smile that was more unpleasant than ever. “There, go softly.”
“Yea, I’ll go,” said the lad; “but I am sure he’s asleep.”
“If he is, make haste back and while I wait till his Majesty has ended his afternoon nap, suppose I give you one of my prescriptions on the proper way to use a sword.”
“But will you?” cried the lad eagerly, his whole manner changing.