“I don’t know when I’ve felt the heat so much,” said the old tailor. “But then it’s the idleness. If there were only something to do, there wouldn’t be so much time to think about the weather.”
“Last night, sir,” said Bojohn, “you were obliged to leave out some parts of your story, and we thought—”
“If I only had a few good ells of cloth on my table, and a man like—well, say like Mortimer the Executioner,—to exercise my art on, I’d be the happiest man alive; but as it is, sitting here with nothing to do—”
“There was one tale you mentioned,” said Bojohn, “about a—”
“It’s a very fine thing to be a Knight of the Silver Lamp,” said Solario, “but there doesn’t seem to be much connected with it in the nature of work. If I could only be employed in making a suit of clothes for Mortimer the Executioner! There’s a subject! The biggest man I’ve ever seen in my life, and the hardest to fit! That would be an undertaking worthy of my genius. Dear, dear!”
“I’ll speak to grandfather about it,” said Bojohn. “I’m sure he’ll let you make a suit for Mortimer. But what we would like to know is—”
“We’d like to hear one of the stories,” began Bodkin again, “that the King made you leave out last night when—”
“It made no difference to me, I assure you,” said Solario, stiffly. “None whatever.”
“But if you would only tell us—” said Bodkin.
“I do not wish to annoy any one with my dull tales,” said Solario. “Far from it; far from it indeed, I assure you.”