When they were weary, they stretched out on the ground, and the Crown Prince, whose bed was nightly dried with a warming-pan for fear of dampness, wallowed blissfully on earth still soft with the melting frosts of the winter. He grew muddy and dirty. He had had no hat, of course, and his bright hair hung over his forehead in moist strands. Now and then he drew a long breath of sheer happiness.
Around them circled the gayety of the Carnival, bands of students in white, with the tall peaked caps of Pierrots. Here and there was a scarlet figure, a devil with horns, who watched the crowd warily. A dog, with the tulle petticoats of a dancer tied around it and a great bow on its neck, made friends with Dick Deadeye, alias Tucker, and joined the group.
But, as dusk descended, the crowd gradually dispersed, some to supper, but some to gather in the Place and in the streets around the Palace. For the rumor that the King was dying would not down.
At last the senior pirate consulted a large nickel watch.
“Gee! it’s almost supper time,” he said.
Prince Ferdinand William Otto consulted his own watch, the one with the inscription: “To Ferdinand William Otto, from his grandfather, on the occasion of his taking his first communion.”
“Why can’t you come home to supper with me?” asked the senior pirate. “Would your folks kick up a row?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Would your family object?”
“There is only one person who would mind,” reflected the Crown Prince, aloud, “and she will be angry anyhow. I—do you think your mother will be willing?”