"Always right—never left," cried the retinue, who were now entering the palace.
"I thought you would agree with me," said the King, "but sometimes I'm left—it's a poor ruler that doesn't work both ways—come in."
Billy was hustled into the palace, which he found hung with torn and faded tapestry. The floor had not been swept or scrubbed for years, and there did not seem to be a solid four legged chair in the room with the exception perhaps of the throne, which was built entirely of Irish potatoes.
"And now," said the King, putting his crown rakishly on one side of his head, "now I'm prepared to open court. First, has any one here any petitions—in writing?"
When he said this an old man hobbled up, and kneeling with many crackings of joints before the King, laid a paper at his feet.
"What is it?" asked the King.
"A request, sire, that my daughter——"
"Refused," said O'Fudge. "Who's next, please—leave the papers."
"But, sire——"