"Lend him your coat, and the rest of it, and your hat, and spare him your periwig—Eh?" added Lee, laying despoiling hands on the grizzled article in question. "So, by your leave, 'in the night all cats are gray.'"
"I would give my skin to save your Majesty," murmured the goldsmith, as he watched Lee tear off Charles's singed perruque, and assist him in fitting on the more venerable borrowed locks.
"Nay," laughed the king, "'tis not a flaying question, I trust, though it comes pretty near it, to be sure," he added, with a compassionate glance at Alworth's coatless bald-pated figure. "Here, Master Alworth, take this for pity's sake. Exchange is no robbery;" and tearing off his gorgeous robe de chambre, he flung it across the shoulders of Alworth, who, as he proudly drew the garment about him, produced an effect less beautiful than striking, and as much as possible like some Chinese idol with his smooth shining crown adorned by its tight little wisp of hair. "Your Majesty," he said, as Lee put his finishing touches to the king's rapid toilette, "looks charming—perfection!" he went on, clasping his hands. "The very double of myself. No one would ever take you for the—h'm—the sort of person you are."
Ready for the road.
"I look like a better man, I doubt," answered the king, turning to survey himself in a mirror. "And now, Master Lee, what next?"
"Stars and Garters," said Lee.
"Ods-fish, man!" cried Charles, opening his eyes. "Hadn't we best be leaving those alone? They'd be telling tales."
"Stars and Garters is the name of my mare," smiled Lee, "who is to carry your Majesty."
"To London?"
"Nay, not so far as that, only to the King's Arms by Hoddesdon Rye."