We followed the Fool up the great staircase and into a distant wing of the palace, and stopped at a door, on which the hunchback knocked. Receiving no answer, he opened the door and led us in. “Your majesty!” he cried.
They Find the King in a Terrible State
The King was pacing the floor, grinding and scratching his palms together, and muttering angrily to himself. He was an enormous man with a puffy, red face, a snub nose, and three chins, and he wheezed as he walked. His hair stood up on end all over his head as if it was trying to fly off. His fat legs went back and forth in a kind of tripping run, and his fat hands rubbed and scratched and slapped each other in a perfect frenzy.
“What, what!” he cried, never halting for an instant. “What’s the matter, what’s the matter?”
“Stop a minute, King Fatchaps!” said the Fool. “Here’s a madman come to cure your itching palms! Ha, ha!”
“What do you say? What do you say?” said the King, dancing along, back and forth.
“It is true, your majesty,” said I.
“You can cure me? What do you say? You’re an impostor! They’re all impostors! Can you cure me? Why don’t you do it then?”
“I understand,” said I, “that a reward is offered—”
“Well, well? What of it?” said the King, wheezing and puffing. “Half of my dead leaves! What of it?”