“If he’s not crowned today,” said he, “I’ll lay a crown he’s never crowned.”
“But heavens, why?”
“The whole nation’s there to meet him; half the army – ay, and Black Michael at the head. Shall we send word that the King’s drunk?”
“That he’s ill,” said I, in correction.
“Ill!” echoed Sapt, with a scornful laugh. “They know his illnesses too well. He’s been ‘ill’ before!”
“Well, we must chance what they think,” said Fritz helplessly. “I’ll carry the news and make the best of it.”
Sapt raised his hand.