“If I hadn’t done so,” he said afterwards to Saint Simon, “I should have burst out laughing in the Comte’s face. There,” he added quickly, in triumphant tones, “I have got it now!”
“Yes, and you would have got it then,” replied Saint Simon, “for my lord will forgive a good deal sooner than being laughed at.”
This was some time later, when they were gliding gently on through the smooth water on a bright sunny morning with their port close at hand and full prospect of being, some time during the next half-hour, close up to the landing-place; and before long so it proved, for the King, quite recovered now from his indisposition, was in eager converse with the skipper as to the best means of getting the horses ashore.
“Well, master, you see this: Southampton isn’t Havre de Grâce.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the King impatiently.
“We had nothing to do there but walk the horses straight from the wharf over the planks, and down through the gangway on to the deck; but you see it’s different here.”
“Nonsense!” said the King. “There are landing-places here, for I can see them. Work your vessel up quite close, and then boards can be laid from the deck, and the same thing can be done the other way on.”
“Yes, master, that’s what I meant; but I forgot all about the tide. You see, we are coming in just at low water, and I sha’n’t be able to get within fifty fathoms of the shore till well on towards night.”
“What! And we have to stop here all day?” cried the King angrily.
“Yes, that’s about it. I’ll get in as close as I can, and then we shall be in the mud.”