“Beg pardon, my masters,” he would say every five minutes, “but do you think his Majesty will get well?” And then, before any of the high counselors could collect themselves to answer, he continued: “Beg pardon, but do you think his Majesty will die?” And the next moment he would say: “Beg pardon, but do you think his Majesty is any better or any worse?”
And all this was so annoying to the high counselors that several times one of them took up some object in the room with the intention of hurling it at Jikki’s head; but before he could throw it the old servant had nervously turned away and left the room.
Tellydeb, the lord high executioner, would often sigh: “I wish there were some law that would permit me to chop off Jikki’s head.” But then Tullydub, the chief counselor, would say gloomily; “There is no law but the king’s will, and he insists that Jikki be allowed to live.”
So they were forced to bear with Jikki as best they could; but after the king breathed his last breath the old servant became more nervous and annoying than ever.
Hearing that the king was dead, Jikki made a rush for the door of the bell-tower, but tripped over the foot of Tollydob and fell upon the marble floor so violently that his bones rattled, and he picked himself up half dazed by the fall.
“Where are you going?” asked Tollydob.
“To toll the bell for the king’s death,” answered Jikki.
“‘WHERE ARE YOU GOING?’ ASKED TOLLYDOB.”
“Well, remain here until we give you permission to go,” commanded the lord high general.