He held his hands out to us and we found them calloused and scarred.
"I can't go back to those mole burrows!" he supplemented.
Professor Quinn showed no signs of amazement. After grasping the palm of each ex-magnate, he fairly electrified his word-box with the supplications of the exiles.
"Are these acknowledgments freely made and do they come from contrite hearts," said the king, "or do they merely cloak a desire to escape further privation at the expense of truth?"
The professor indignantly repelled the insinuation. When he had finished his vigorous remarks, I stepped to the front and made a complete confession of my designs on the Bolla and the imperial exchequer. Quinn tried to stop me, but I would suffer no interference.
"Are you aware," said the king gravely, "that lèse majesté, felony, and half a dozen other capital crimes are mixed up in your confession?"
"Am I less courageous than an ex-trust magnate?" cried I warmly.
"Their confessions free them from servitude and the inconveniences of hunger and lack of raiment," responded the king; "yours condemns you to a blast of zet that will consume and dissipate your body as though it had never been."
Professor Quinn groaned and turned away with one hand over his eyes. My affection reached out for the good man then as it had never done before.
"Bring on the indexograph, Olox," commanded the king. "We will see how much of truth or falsehood it registers in the cases of these gentlemen."