"
At a sign from the Colonel, which I was lucky enough to see the meaning
of, I dropped on my knee before the Prince.
"Thank you, Master Wheatman," said Charles, in his ordinary frank way,
when I rose. "You're worth a hundred rats like young Maclachlan."
I coloured, partly with the praise and partly because I was wondering how
many Smite-and-spare-nots I was worth.
I was then closely questioned about the lie of the land to the south of
Stafford and Derby. After a long consultation, the Prince dismissed me,
with a gracious invitation to be one of the Royal party at dinner,
promising me, with a sly smile, that the company should be to my liking.
The Colonel and I withdrew. In the corridor he put me in charge of an
upper servant of the household, and went to see to Sultan.
My new acquaintance was an elderly man of a solemn, soapy aspect, set off
by a sober black livery and a neat wig. He took me up to a bedroom, and
saw to my comfort.
"William, or whatever it is," I began.
"William it is, sir," said he.
"Do I look like an assistant aide-de-camp to a prince?"
He took stock of me, from my dirty boots to my bare head, and then said
solemnly, "No, sir!"
"William," said I, "but that's precisely what I am.
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