"Y-e-s—methinks I do. (It is not much of a lie—an' I had meddled with the Greek at all, I had not faulted simply thrice, but forty times.) Yes, I do recall it, now—go on."
"The master, being wroth with what he termed such slovenly and doltish work, did promise that he would soundly whip me for it—and—"
"Whip THEE!" said Tom, astonished out of his presence of mind. "Why should he whip THEE for faults of mine?"
"Ah, your Grace forgetteth again. He always scourgeth me when thou dost fail in thy lessons."
"True, true—I had forgot. Thou teachest me in private—then if I fail, he argueth that thy office was lamely done, and—"
"Oh, my liege, what words are these? I, the humblest of thy servants, presume to teach THEE?"
"Then where is thy blame? What riddle is this? Am I in truth gone mad, or is it thou? Explain—speak out."
"But, good your Majesty, there's nought that needeth simplifying.—None may visit the sacred person of the Prince of Wales with blows; wherefore, when he faulteth, 'tis I that take them; and meet it is and right, for that it is mine office and my livelihood." {1}
