King: To be sure, it must not happen. Why
would it happen? But supposing—I only said
supposing it did. Would you say would that
lad grow too high in himself to go into the kitchen
...it might be only an odd time ...to oblige
me ...and dress a dinner the same as he did
to-day?
Dall Glic: I am sure and certain that he would
not. It is the way, it is, with the common sort,
the lower orders. He'd be wishful to sit on a chair
at his ease and to leave his hand idle till he'd grow
to be bulky and wishful for sleep.
King: That is a pity, a great pity, and a great
loss to the world. A big misfortune he to have
got it in his head to take a liking to the girl. I
tell you he was a great lad behind the saucepans!
Dall Glic: Since he did get it in his head, it is
what we have to do now, to make an end of
him.
King: To gaol him now, and settle up ovens
and spits and all sorts in the cell, wouldn't he,
to shorten the day, be apt to start cooking?
Dall Glic: In my belief he will do nothing at
all, but to hold you to the promise you made,
and to force you to send away the King of Sorcha.
King: To have the misfortune of a cook for
a son-in-law, and without the good luck of profiting
by what he can do in his trade! That is a hard thing
for a father to put up with, let alone a king!
Dall Glic: If you will but listen to the advice
I have to give....
King: I know it without you telling me. You
are asking me to make away with the lad! And
who knows but the girl might turn on me after,
women are so queer, and say I had a right to have
asked leave from herself?
Dall Glic: There will no one suspect you of
doing it, and you to take my plan. Bid them
heat the big oven outside on the lawn that is for
roasting a bullock in its full bulk.