“Slaughter,” sobbed Peer Haps convulsively. Then mopping his face he sat up. “Someone must follow him at once and bring her back!” thundered the old monarch. “A thousand gold bricks to the man who brings her back. A thousand gold bricks and the Princess’ hand in marriage!” At this there was a great shuffling of feet and the young men of Perhaps City began to exchange uneasy glances.
“Down the mountain?” asked Perix faintly.
“Where else?” demanded Peer Haps, glaring angrily at the young nobleman whom he had intended for his daughter.
“But we might be dashed to pieces. It is terribly unsafe,” stuttered Perix unhappily. All the other Happsies began to shake their heads and murmur sadly, “Unsafe, very unsafe!”
“Well, how about my daughter?” roared the poor monarch, puffing out his cheeks. “Will no one go after my daughter?” There was more shuffling of feet, but not a voice was raised. We must not be too hard on these young Happsies, remembering that in all their lives and in the lives of their fathers and grandfathers no one had ever descended Maybe Mountain excepting Abrog the old prophet.
“I’ll go myself!” spluttered Peer Haps explosively. But as he arose with a great groan, the Forgetful Poet rushed forward and embraced as much of the Peer as his arms would circle.
“You’d be broken to bits!” cried Percy distractedly. “Suppose you stumbled. I, I will go and find the Princess and this meddling, miserable prophet.”
“You! Why you’ll forget what you’re after before you start,” sneered Perix disagreeably.
“As to that,” said Percy, snapping his fingers under the young fellow’s nose, “I may forget a word now and then, but I don’t forget how to act when my King is in trouble!”