While all this was happening in the King's kitchen, Kinda Jolly sat cheerfully on his throne, talking to his pretty little Queen.
"Rosa, my dear," smiled Kinda, tugging at his silver whiskers, "guess what we're going to have for dinner."
Rosa Merry, who was sewing a button on the King's suspenders, paused with her needle in the air.
"What does it begin with?" asked Rosa curiously. The Queen simply doted on a riddle.
"With a G," answered Kinda Jolly, leaning down to pat Trippsy, his pet foot stool. Trippsy is the only live footstool, I think, I have ever heard of. He followed Kinda wherever he went, which was fortunate, for the King's legs were so short that no matter how low the chair or bench, his feet never touched the floor. In some ways Trippsy was a more useful pet than a dog. He never chased cats, nor got into fights, nor barked, except a few shins, so that Kinda Jolly was awfully fond of him.
"Is it a goat?" giggled Rosa Merry, biting off her thread.
"Goat!" sputtered Kinda Jolly. "I should say not! Trippsy, old boy, she says we're going to have goat for dinner." Trippsy, who had been to market with the King—Kinda being one of those dear old fashioned fellows who do their own marketing—waved his tassel faintly to show that he appreciated the joke, while General Whiffenpuff, the King's body guard, and Hah Hoh, the Town Laugher burst into loud roars of merriment.
"Guess again," invited Kinda Jolly, putting his finger tips together, and beaming on his pretty wife.
"Grapes, glue, gum drops?" ventured the Queen, puckering up her forehead. "Gravy, ginger, griddle cakes. I know, it's griddle cakes!"