"I thank you, my good people."
This unexpected result threw the company into convulsions of merriment. When something like quiet was presently come again, the Ruffler said, firmly, but with an accent of good nature—
"Drop it, boy, 'tis not wise, nor well. Humour thy fancy, if thou must, but choose some other title."
A tinker shrieked out a suggestion—
"Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!"
The title 'took,' at once, every throat responded, and a roaring shout went up, of—
"Long live Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!" followed by hootings, cat-calls, and peals of laughter.
"Hale him forth, and crown him!"
"Robe him!"
"Sceptre him!"