him!”
“Throne him!”
These and twenty other cries broke out at once! and almost before the poor little victim could draw a breath he was crowned with a tin basin, robed in a tattered blanket, throned upon a barrel, and sceptred with the tinker’s soldering-iron. Then all flung themselves upon their knees about him and sent up a chorus of ironical wailings, and mocking supplications, whilst they swabbed their eyes with their soiled and ragged sleeves and aprons —
“Be gracious to us, O sweet King!”
“Trample not upon thy beseeching worms, O noble Majesty!”
“Pity thy slaves, and comfort them with a royal kick!”
“Cheer us and warm us with thy gracious rays, O flaming sun of sovereignty!”
“Sanctify the ground with the touch of thy foot, that we may eat the dirt and be ennobled!”
“Deign to spit upon us, O Sire, that our children’s children may tell of thy princely condescension, and be proud and happy for ever!”
But the humorous tinker made the ‘hit’ of the evening and carried off the honours. Kneeling, he pretended to kiss the King’s foot, and was indignantly spurned; whereupon he went about begging for a rag to paste over the place upon his face which had been touched by the foot, saying it must be preserved from contact with the vulgar air, and that he should make his fortune by going on the highway and exposing it to view at the rate of a hundred shillings a sight. He made himself so killingly funny that he was the envy and admiration of the whole mangy rabble.
Tears of shame and indignation stood in the little monarch’s eyes; and the thought in his heart was, “Had I offered them a deep wrong they could not be more cruel — yet have I proffered nought but to do them a kindness — and it is thus they use me for it!”
Chapter XVIII. The Prince with the tramps.
The troop of vagabonds turned out at early dawn, and set forward on their march. There was a lowering sky overhead, sloppy ground under foot, and a winter chill in the air. All gaiety was gone from the company; some were sullen and silent, some were irritable and petulant, none were gentle-humoured, all were thirsty.
The Ruffler put ‘Jack’ in Hugo’s charge, with some brief instructions, and commanded John Canty to keep away from him and let him alone; he also warned Hugo not to be too rough with the lad.
After a while the weather grew milder, and the clouds lifted somewhat. The troop ceased to shiver, and their spirits began to improve. They grew more and more cheerful, and finally began to chaff each other and insult passengers along the highway. This showed that they were awaking to an appreciation of life and its joys once more. The dread in which their sort was held was apparent in the fact that everybody gave them the road, and took their ribald insolences meekly, without venturing to talk back. They snatched linen from the hedges, occasionally in full view of the owners, who made no protest, but only seemed grateful that they did not take the hedges, too.
By-and-by they invaded a small farmhouse and made themselves at home while the trembling farmer and his people swept the larder clean to furnish a breakfast for them. They chucked the housewife and her daughters under the chin whilst receiving the food from their hands, and made coarse jests about them, accompanied with insulting epithets and bursts of horse-laughter. They threw bones and vegetables at the farmer and his sons, kept them dodging all the time, and applauded uproariously when a good hit was made. They ended by buttering the head of one of the daughters who resented some of their familiarities. When they took their leave they threatened to come back and burn the house over the heads of the family if any report of their doings got to the ears of the authorities.
About noon, after a long and weary tramp, the gang came to a halt behind a hedge on the outskirts of a considerable village. An hour was allowed for rest, then the crew scattered themselves abroad to enter the village at different points to ply their various trades — ’Jack’ was sent with Hugo. They wandered hither and thither for some time, Hugo watching for opportunities to do a stroke of business, but finding none — so he finally said —
“I see nought to steal; it is a paltry place. Wherefore we will beg.”
“WE, forsooth! Follow thy trade — it befits thee. But I will not beg.”
“Thou’lt not beg!” exclaimed Hugo, eyeing the King with surprise. “Prithee, since when hast thou reformed?”
“What dost thou mean?”
“Mean? Hast thou not begged the streets of London all thy life?”
“I? Thou idiot!”
“Spare thy compliments — thy stock will last the longer. Thy father says thou hast begged all thy days. Mayhap he lied. Peradventure you will even make so bold as to SAY he lied,” scoffed Hugo.
“Him YOU call my father? Yes, he lied.”
“Come, play not thy merry game of madman so far, mate; use it for thy amusement, not thy hurt. An’ I tell him this, he will scorch thee finely for it.”
“Save thyself the trouble. I will tell him.”
“I like thy spirit, I do in truth; but I do not admire thy judgment. Bone-rackings and bastings be plenty enow in this life, without going out of one’s way to invite them. But a truce to these matters; I believe your father. I doubt not he can lie; I doubt not he DOTH lie, upon occasion, for the best of us do that; but there is no occasion here. A wise man does not waste so good a commodity as lying for nought. But come; sith it is thy humour to give over begging, wherewithal shall we busy ourselves? With robbing kitchens?”
The King said, impatiently —
“Have done with this folly — you weary me!”
Hugo replied, with temper —
“Now harkee, mate; you will not beg, you will not rob; so be it. But I will tell you what you WILL do. You will play decoy whilst I beg. Refuse, an’ you think you may venture!”
The King was about to reply contemptuously, when Hugo said, interrupting —
“Peace! Here comes one with a kindly face. Now will I fall down in a fit. When the stranger runs to me, set you up a wail, and fall upon your knees, seeming to weep; then cry out as all the devils of misery were in your belly, and say, ‘Oh, sir, it is my poor afflicted brother, and we be friendless; o’ God’s name cast through your merciful eyes one pitiful look upon a sick, forsaken, and most miserable wretch; bestow one little penny out of thy riches upon one smitten of God and ready to perish!’ — and mind you, keep you ON wailing, and abate not till we bilk him of his penny, else shall you rue it.”
Then immediately Hugo began to moan, and groan, and roll his eyes, and reel and totter about; and when the stranger was close at hand, down he sprawled before him, with a shriek, and began to writhe and wallow in the dirt, in seeming agony.
