eat it with an interest which could not have been more intense if
it had been a deadly explosive and was expected to blow him up and
scatter him all about the place. He was careful not to hurry, and
equally careful not to do anything whatever for himself, but wait
till the proper official knelt down and did it for him. He got
through without a mistake–flawless and precious triumph.
When the meal was over at last and he marched away in the midst of
his bright pageant, with the happy noises in his ears of blaring
bugles, rolling drums, and thundering acclamations, he felt that
if he had seen the worst of dining in public it was an ordeal
which he would be glad to endure several times a day if by that
means he could but buy himself free from some of the more
formidable requirements of his royal office.
Chapter XVII. Foo-foo the First.
Miles Hendon hurried along toward the Southwark end of the bridge,
keeping a sharp look-out for the persons he sought, and hoping and
expecting to overtake them presently. He was disappointed in
this, however. By asking questions, he was enabled to track them
part of the way through Southwark; then all traces ceased, and he
was perplexed as to how to proceed. Still, he continued his
efforts as best he could during the rest of the day. Nightfall
found him leg-weary, half-famished, and his desire as far from
accomplishment as ever; so he supped at the Tabard Inn and went to
bed, resolved to make an early start in the morning, and give the
town an exhaustive search. As he lay thinking and planning, he
presently began to reason thus: The boy would escape from the
ruffian, his reputed father, if possible; would he go back to
London and seek his former haunts? No, he would not do that, he
would avoid recapture. What, then, would he do? Never having had
a friend in the world, or a protector, until he met Miles Hendon,
he would naturally try to find that friend again, provided the
effort did not require him to go toward London and danger. He
would strike for Hendon Hall, that is what he would do, for he
knew Hendon was homeward bound and there he might expect to find
him. Yes, the case was plain to Hendon–he must lose no more time
in Southwark, but move at once through Kent, toward Monk’s Holm,
searching the wood and inquiring as he went. Let us return to the
vanished little King now.
The ruffian whom the waiter at the inn on the bridge saw ‘about to
join’ the youth and the King did not exactly join them, but fell
in close behind them and followed their steps. He said nothing.
His left arm was in a sling, and he wore a large green patch over
his left eye; he limped slightly, and used an oaken staff as a
support. The youth led the King a crooked course through
Southwark, and by-and-by struck into the high road beyond. The
King was irritated, now, and said he would stop here–it was
Hendon’s place to come to him, not his to go to Hendon. He would
not endure such insolence; he would stop where he was. The youth
said–
“Thou’lt tarry here, and thy friend lying wounded in the wood
yonder? So be it, then.”
The King’s manner changed at once. He cried out–
“Wounded? And who hath dared to do it? But that is apart; lead
on, lead on! Faster, sirrah! Art shod with lead? Wounded, is
he? Now though the doer of it be a duke’s son he shall rue it!”
It was some distance to the wood, but the space was speedily
traversed. The youth looked about him, discovered a bough
sticking in the ground, with a small bit of rag tied to it, then
led the way into the forest, watching for similar boughs and
finding them at intervals; they were evidently guides to the point
he was aiming at. By-and-by an open place was reached, where were
the charred remains of a farm-house, and near them a barn which
was falling to ruin and decay. There was no sign of life