“At this precise moment,” pursued the king, “you’d be in your office hoping some friend would fall down a manhole so you could sue the city for damages. You could consider yourself jolly lucky if you made eight hundred goobecs a year. If you were a young doctor you’d be sitting around with your hands in your empty pockets praying for an epidemic. If you were a young business man you’d be in a terrible stew about your overhead or underfoot or whatever it is business men get into a stew about. Instead of having eleven motor cars, not counting roadsters, you’d be fortunate to have your bus fare. Now I’m a doting father, Ernie, but even I can see that you are no intellectual colossus. And yet you acceptably fill a job that brings you in three or four hundred thousand goobecs a year, and eleven motor cars, not counting roadsters. Despite all that, you talk of going on strike. Really, Ernie, that’s preposterous. Isn’t it, Your Zabonian Serenity?”
The emperor nodded and puffed at his scented cigaret.
“Pre,” he rumbled, “posterous!”
“You’ve a downy nest, my boy,” went on the king benignly. “You’d be a chump to quit it. Come now. Look at this thing through a microscope instead of a pair of smoked glasses. Be a prince of the world, not one of the Red Fairy Book. If the people are dolts enough to let you keep the job, why put unpleasant ideas into their heads?”
“Oh, father”—the young prince was very pale—“forgive me for saying it, but I do believe you are a cynic!”
“Of course I am,” answered the king cheerfully. “That’s better than being the only other thing a king can be.”
“What’s that?”
“A blithering fool,” answered the king. “How can a king with any sense respect his people? He sees them bawling their beery cheers first about some rather ordinary human being like yourself, for example, Ernie, and then he sees them cheering one of your silly uniforms stuffed with wax. The only way a king who pretends to be civilized can regard his subjects is as dupes.”
The young prince lay scowling at the cupids. He was thinking deeply. He said at last:
“I know. You are saying this to try me. You are testing my faith in the inherent strength of royalty. It was weak of me to doubt. That dummy business today did hit me hard; but, after all, it was only a desperate ruse that by chance succeeded. You pretended it is quite the usual thing; but, of course, it isn’t. I implore you to tell me that it isn’t, father.”