At last there came in sight a man dressed in uniform, who Jimmie would never have dreamed could be a king—except that he had seen his picture in the illustrated papers. He was a medium-sized, rather stoop-shouldered little gentleman, decidedly commonplace-looking, with a closely-trimmed brown beard turning grey, and rosy cheeks such as all Englishmen have. He was escorted by the head of the hospital staff; and behind him came a lady, a severe-looking lady dressed in black, with a couple more doctors escorting her, and behind them several officers in uniform.
The king and queen stopped at the head of the room, and looked down the rows of beds. Each of them wore a friendly smile, and nodded, and said: “How do you do?” And, of course, everybody smiled back, and the nurses curtsied and said, “How do you do, Your Majesties?”
And then His Majesty said: “I hope everybody is doing well?” And the doctor called the head nurse in charge of the ward, who came up smiling and bowing and answered that everybody was doing beautifully, thank you; at which both His Majesty and Her Majesty declared that they were so pleased. The queen looked about, and seeing a man with many bandages, went to him and sat by his bedside and began to ask him questions; the king moved down the centre of the room, until suddenly his eye happened on the Honourable Beatrice.
She had not moved; she stood at her place like the other nurses. But Jimmie, watching, saw a smile come upon the king's face, and he moved towards her saying: “Oh! how do you do?” The young lady went to meet him, quite as if she were used to meeting kings every day.
“How are your patients doing?” inquired His Majesty.
“Beautifully,” said she; and His Majesty said that he was pleased—just as if he had not said the same words only a minute before. He looked at the patients with benevolent but tired-looking eyes; and the Honourable Beatrice, by those subtle methods known to women, brought it about that he looked especially at her favourite. She knew that he would wish to talk to some of the patients, and by ever so slight a movement she brought it about that it was towards Jimmie Higgins he advanced.
“What is your name?” he asked, and then, “Well, Higgins, how are you feeling?”
“Sure, I'm all right,” said Jimmie sturdily; “I wanner get up, only she won't let me.”
“Well,” said His Majesty, “the time was when the king was the tyrant, but now it's the nurse.” He smiled at the Honourable lady. “Are you an American soldier?”
“Naw,” replied Jimmie, “I'm only a machinist.”