Bumpety-bumpety! it started rolling down the hill. Both ran after it in pursuit, then realizing that they were being distanced stood stock-still with horror on their faces. Bumpety-bumpety! came the big melon, with ever increasing momentum, while the eyes of Florimel and all the rest followed its erratic course down the hill—bumpety-bumpety!—with leaps and bounds—bumpety-bumpety!—first to one side, then to another, bumpety-bumpety!—till it finished with an extra high bound and squashed all to pieces right in their very midst. Little jets of sweet water shot in all directions from its sides as though projected from a syphon, and out from the juicy, luscious, red pulp exposed to view there crawled sheepishly on his hands and knees a little weazened old fellow who wore an ermine cape and gold crown.
“Hail, Your Majesty!” shouted all the Brownies, and the little old fellow stood up, rubbed himself, and said, rather ruefully:
Then the Brownies, under the leadership of the Dude, yelled, in perfect unison:
“’Rah! ’rah! ’rah!
Stan-is-laus!
Siss-boom-ah!”
“Thanks!” graciously acknowledged His Majesty, adding by way of explanation:
“I chose this watermelon green
To shun the treacherous submarine!”
Then a puzzled expression came to his face as his eye suddenly observed Florimel.
“Why, who’s this fellow?” he demanded. “You’re not trying to make a Brownie of him, are you?”
Florimel’s heart sank, for he realized that here was the king himself, whose word was absolute law to all these little people.