"DINNER!"
At this, the whole company of courtiers, gentlemen and ladies as well, turned their backs on the throne, and led by the Court Crier, they leaped off the platform, raced up the center pathway and rushed, pell-mell, through the glass doors at the other end; when the Admiral, who had followed close behind, slammed the doors and locked them. Having done so, the Admiral came smiling back again, twirling the key on his finger.
"What's that for?" asked Margaret. "Do you always lock the doors for dinner?"
"There isn't any dinner," replied the King, slyly screwing up one eye. "It's just a trick of mine to get rid of them whenever they crowd too much."
"Do you do it often, then?" asked Margaret.
"Oh, yes. Two or three times a day sometimes."
"But, don't they ever learn?" cried Frances in surprise. "I shouldn't have thought you could have played the same trick on them more than once—or twice."
"Learn!" cried the King. "They never learn! They are the most wooden-headed lot you ever saw. It isn't all fun, being a king," taking off his crown and hanging it over one of the knobs on the back of the throne, "not even a monarch of the Woods—especially the Hardwoods. They are such blockheads!"
The jovial little King looked almost melancholy, which, of course, was against the laws of the Island, but he recovered again in a moment when the Admiral tactfully poked him in the ribs with the door-key and cried, "Cheer up, Rex!"