"Sure," said the King, "and your salary is $3.75 a month."
"Yes, sire," said the Herald, smiling, because he thought the King was going to give him all his back pay. "Yes, sire, forgive me for reminding you."
"You are forgiven," said the King, "and now, Gyard, search him and take from his pockets $3.75."
"But your Majesty," began the Herald.
"Enough, I can't remit the fine, and if you have the money you must pay it."
In a jiffy Private Swash Buckler had fished $3.75 in nickels and dimes from the Herald's pockets and handed it to the King.
"And now me vartuous subjects, give three cheers for your noble and generous king, and we will enter the City."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the people—even the Herald gave three feeble toots on his horn.
"Good-bye," said Billy, hoping that by this gentle hint they would understand that he did not desire their company any further. Indeed he felt uneasy about the few coppers in his own pockets in the presence of such a free handed King.