“The people love him,” said Nikky doggedly.
“The people! Sheep. I do not trust the people. I do not trust any one. I watch, but what can I do? The very food we eat—”
“He is coming,” said Nikky softly. And fell to whistling under his breath.
Together Nikky and Prince Ferdinand William Otto went out and down the great marble staircase. Sentries saluted. Two flunkies in scarlet and gold threw open the doors. A stray dog that had wandered into the courtyard watched them gravely.
“I wish,” said Prince Ferdinand William Otto, “that I might have a dog.”
“A dog! Why?”
“Well, it would be company. Dogs are very friendly. Yesterday I met a boy who has a dog. It sleeps on his bed at night.”
“You have a good many things, you know,” Nikky argued. “You’ve got a dozen horses, for one thing.”
“But a dog’s different.” He felt the difference, but he could not put it into words. “And I’d rather have only one horse. I’d get better acquainted with it.”
Nikky looked back. Although it had been the boast of the royal family for a century that it could go about unattended, that its only danger was from the overzeal of the people in showing their loyalty, not since the death of Prince Hubert had this been true in fact. No guards or soldiers accompanied them, but the secret police were always near at hand. So Nikky looked, made sure that a man in civilian clothing was close at their heels, and led the way across the Square to the riding-school.