“I guess that settles Mr. Volcano!” triumphantly cried King Stanislaus, as he wiped beads of perspiration from his royal brow.
“It’s a pity the palace was destroyed,” remarked the Student.
“It’s Dragonfel’s own fault,” said the king, “and he has only himself to blame. I wouldn’t have that man’s mean disposition, no, not for all the jewels and mines he possesses.”
“Even if he has lost his palace,” said the Dude, “he’s got a fine new macadamized road to the volcano. With a jitney-bus he can make a lot of money from tourists.”
The fire was practically extinguished, and all danger from it had passed. It was well that this was so, for the first rays of the sun were beginning to appear in the brightening east, and the mystic powers of the Brownies which come at night were fast being exhausted.
When the valiant fire-fighters at last had the volcano under control, Prince Florimel gazed anxiously around for Queen Titania, Dame Drusilda, Violet, and Daffodil, but none of them was in sight.
Neither could he observe Dragonfel nor any of his followers, for when they had become assured of safety these cravens had fled, leaving the Brownies to do all the work.
Florimel ran hither and thither, searching among the ruins for those he was so eager to find, and calling aloud their names, but there was no response to his cries, nor could he discover the slightest trace of them anywhere, which alarmed him greatly.