intelligence, "HE can personate him, and say it. Can you?" he turned
to me brusquely.

It was an awful moment. I had been drinking heavily too, but I
resolved to succeed. "I'm King of Trooly-rooly--" I murmured; but I
could not master it--I staggered and followed the King under the table.

"Is there no one here," roared Spitz, "who can shave thish dynasty, and
shay 'Tooral--'? No! ---- it! I mean 'Trularlooral--'" but he, too,
lurched hopelessly forward.

"No one can say 'Tooral-looral--'" muttered Fritz; and, grasping Spitz
in despair, they both rolled under the table.

How long we lay there, Heaven knows! I was awakened by Spitz playing
the garden hose on me. He was booted and spurred, with Fritz by his
side. The King was lying on a bench, saying feebly: "Blesh you, my
chillen."

"By politely acceding to Black Michael's request to 'try our
one-and-six sherry,' he has been brought to this condition," said Spitz
bitterly. "It's a trick to keep him from being crowned. In this
country if the King is crowned while drunk, the kingdom instantly
reverts to a villain--no matter who. But in this case the villain is
Black Michael. Ha! What say you, lad? Shall we frustrate the rascal,
by having YOU personate the King?"

I was--well!--intoxicated at the thought! But what would my
sister-in-law say? Would she--in her Nonconformist
conscience--consider it strictly honorable? But I swept all scruples
aside. A King was to be saved! "I will go," I said. "Let us on to
Kohlslau--riding like the wind!" We rode like the wind, furiously,
madly. Mounted on a wild, dashing bay--known familiarly as the "Bay of
Biscay" from its rough turbulence--I easily kept the lead. But our
horses began to fail. Suddenly Spitz halted, clapped his hand to his
head, and threw himself from his horse. "Fools!" he said, "we should
have taken the train! It will get there an hour before we will!" He
pointed to a wayside station where the 7.15 excursion train for
Kohlslau was waiting.

"But how dreadfully unmediaeval!--What will the public say?" I began.

"Bother the public!" he said gruffly. "Who's running this dynasty--you
or I? Come!" With the assistance of Fritz he tied up my face with a
handkerchief to simulate toothache, and then, with a shout of defiance,
we three rushed madly into a closely packed third-class carriage.

Never shall I forget the perils, the fatigue, the hopes and fears of
that mad journey. Panting, pe