“My dear,” said the Queen, “I’m quite sure that the ninth Fortmain was your great-great-grandfather, and not your great-grandfather, though of course I may be mistaken; but it seems to me that it was the tenth Fortmain who was your great-grandfather, because the ninth had an oldest son who married into the Stiffish family, if I recollect the name correctly, or perhaps it was Standish, and at any rate he died without any children while his father was alive, and the younger son came into the—”
“Never mind, never mind,” said the King. “You mustn’t interrupt. Let the man go on with his story.”
You must know (began the old man again) that in the reign of the good King Fortmain the Ninth, I practised my art as a tailor in the city of Vernicroft, a thriving and busy city, located in a corner of the Great Forest remote from—
“Vernicroft!” said the King. “I don’t understand it. There’s no such busy city now. There’s nothing but a little ruined hamlet away over at the other side of the—”
“Well,” said the Queen, “perhaps at that time—”
“Don’t interrupt,” said the King. “Let the man go on.”
You must know (began the old man again) that I had risen to a considerable eminence in my profession. I do not pretend to say that I was the very best tailor in the kingdom, for I am far too modest to speak of my own merit; but the—er—the spangled coat in which you now see me was a creation of my own brain, and at the time it was thought to be—er—however, it speaks for itself.
“I think it’s a perfect sight,” whispered Bojohn to Bodkin.
It is true I was growing old, but I was very well satisfied; there was no one dependent on me, my clients were numerous and rich, and I enjoyed the respect due an artist and man of substance. I had saved a good deal of money, for I had never squandered any in foolish gifts, nor wasted any in ridiculous pleasures, nor—but I do not wish to boast.
“That’s a wonderful thing to brag about,” whispered Bodkin to Bojohn.