The Missing Prince

“Why, whatever is happening now?” he thought, and on inquiry he found that these were some of the newly elected Kings coming to take possession of the Palace.

King Cæsar Maximilian Augustus Claudius Smith (now called King Smith I.), whose crown had not yet arrived, had ingeniously contrived a temporary one of alternate silver forks and spoons stuck in the band of his hat, and, with a velvet pile table-cloth from one of the drawing-room tables thrown over his shoulder, looked quite imposing as he stood at the door and explained to the people that he was now as much a King as the rest of them, and intended to keep the Palace for himself.

“You may come in, though,” he said, catching sight of Boy, and as soon as he had entered, King Smith I. closed and bolted the door, and the other disappointed Kings had to carry their bundles and parcels home again.

“How do you like being a King, Your Majesty?” asked King Smith I. pleasantly, when they had reached one of the state apartments in which he had established himself.

“Well, I don’t know,” laughed Boy, “I don’t feel any different at present.”

“Ah! that’s because you haven’t a crown and sceptre, Your Majesty; we must see what we can find for you. You are sure to be treated with disrespect if you don’t maintain your kingly dignity. The late Lord High Adjudicator, who is now King Joshua Dobbs, seized the regalia as soon as he knew that he was elected King, and so the rest of us will have to make shift with such crowns and things as we can manufacture for ourselves. Now let’s see. What can we make you a crown out of? Oh! I know. There are some packets of tea downstairs with some beautiful silver paper around them; suppose we make you a crown of that, and twist some around a stick for a sceptre.”

So with some paste and cardboard and this silver paper, which King Smith I. brought up from downstairs, they soon made quite a respectable-looking crown, and particularly as King Smith I. had found some fancy buttons, which he fastened into it, to look like jewels. Another small table-cloth, pinned to Boy’s shoulders for a cloak, completed his costume, and he felt quite proud of his appearance when he saw his reflection in the looking-glass at the end of the room.

“Will there be any meeting in the House of Words to-day?” asked Boy, “and if so who will sit on the Throne? I expect there will be a rare scramble for it, won’t there?”

King Smith I. laughed. “The Busybody Extraordinary,” he said, “took possession of it immediately he heard that he had been elected King and won’t leave it on any consideration whatever. He has sat in it ever since the Election and at first declared that he would carry it about with him wherever he went, and when he found that it was too heavy to move, he sent for his wife and family, and they have taken up their residence on the dais on which it is placed, and intend to remain there. The First Lord of the Cash Box has the best of it, though, for he has all the money – he absolutely refuses to part with a penny; and although I tried to persuade him that I ought to have an allowance made me as I was now a King, he wouldn’t see it He said that if he made every one who was elected an allowance he would have no money left for himself.”

“What time do we dine to-day?” asked Boy, who began to feel rather hungry.

“Well, you see,” explained King Smith, “all the other servants have left, and I expect we shall have to manage for ourselves; fortunately there is plenty of food in the larder, but who’s to set the table? I don’t think, now that I am a King, I ought to have to do that sort of thing, you know.”

“Oh! I don’t mind helping to set the table,” suggested Boy, “if you will show me where the things are.”

“Very well, Your Majesty,” said King Smith I.; “one King is as good as another, and if you don’t mind helping we will soon have a nice little dinner party all to ourselves.”

So Boy and he went down into the great empty kitchens, and brought up plates and dishes and laid them in great state in the Banqueting Hall, and with the pies and pasties which they found in the pantry they had quite a feast.

After they had enjoyed their dinner, King Smith I. washed the dishes, and Boy wiped them and put them away, and then he thought that he would like to stroll into the town and see what was going on. He found the streets full of Kings and Queens dressed with the most ridiculous attempts at royal grandeur; the Queens wore long court trains made of table-cloths and window-curtains, and any other old finery that they could scrape together at such short notice, while the Kings did their best to appear grand with such odds and ends as were left.

Dish-covers and fireirons were very fashionable substitutes for crowns and sceptres, which, of course, were necessary for everybody.

Boy’s crown of tinsel paper was evidently much admired, and many of the Kings and Queens cast envious glances at it as he walked through the streets. On the whole, though, they all seemed pretty well satisfied with themselves, and treated each other with a considerable amount of hauteur.

Boy called in at the House of Words just out of curiosity to see the Busybody Extraordinary, and found him, looking very dignified indeed, seated on the great gilded throne at one end of the Hall; the effect was rather marred, though, by the dais being littered with all kinds of household furniture which had been hastily brought across from his old home. Her Majesty the Queen, his wife, was busy making up a bed for the baby on one of the lower steps, and the Princess, his daughter, and the Crown Prince, his son, were squabbling as to who should wash up the dinner plates in a tin pail at the back of the throne.

They received Boy in great state, however, for when they perceived him coming towards them the King arose and the Queen and the Prince and Princess formed a group around him, with their noses in the air in a very superior style, and the Queen informed Boy that “he might kiss her hand if he wished.”

Boy, however, said, “it didn’t matter, thank you, and he had only called to see how they liked living on the dais.”

“Oh, of course,” said the King with a grand air, “it’s only for a very short time – until I have an opportunity of re-organising my Kingdom. It’s rather awkward, at present, you see, there being so many other Kings and Queens about.”

“Yes, I should think so,” laughed Boy.

The King got down from the throne, and coming close to Boy, whispered in his ear, —

“Would you mind calling me ‘Your Majesty’ when you speak to me, please?” and then went back to his throne again.

“What nonsense!” replied Boy. “I can’t keep addressing everybody as ‘Your Majesty,’ you know, and, besides, I’m as much of a King as you are.”

The Queen looked very severe.

“What shall we do about it, my dear?” asked the King anxiously.

“Send him to the deepest dungeon beneath the Castle Moat,” replied the Queen, waving her hand tragically.

“Yes, we shall really have to do something of that sort, if you don’t treat us with proper respect,” remarked the King warningly.

“What rubbish!” laughed Boy. “Why, you haven’t got a castle moat, or a dungeon either,” and he walked away while the King sat down on the throne with a great air of offended dignity, and the rest of the Royal family resumed their domestic duties.

Out in the town Boy found all the shops closed; for, you see, none of the Kings and Queens would think of working, and so everything was at a standstill.

After hunting about for a little time Boy found the house where the Advertiser General had lived, and thought he would call on him. He found him seated at one end of the long studio while the Public Rhymester sat at the other; they had each arranged a chair on the top of a table to look something like a throne, and the Advertiser General had really made a very regal-looking cloak out of a large piece of calico, by painting one side red and drawing little black tails on the other to look like ermine. They seemed very miserable, though, and explained to Boy that they had not been able to get anything to eat.

“We went out a little while ago,” complained the Advertiser General, “but His Majesty the butcher was most rude when I commanded him to send me some meat for dinner, and Her Majesty his wife asked me if I knew who I was talking to?’

“It was just the same with His Majesty the grocer. He was seated in state on a sugar-barrel at one end of his shop, which he now calls the Palace, and would no more think of serving me with a pound of tea than if he had been the Emperor of China himself.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what will become of us,” chimed in the Public Rhymester. “I am thinking of emigrating and letting myself out on hire at people’s houses in some country where Kings and Queens are not quite so plentiful as they are here. I have drawn up a little Prospectus. You might like to see it, and if you could recommend me to a good family where they know how to treat a King properly I should be much obliged,” and the late Public Rhymester handed Boy the following: —

HIS MAJESTY THE KING OF ZUM

ATTENDS PARTIES

REASONABLE TERMS. DISTANCE NO OBJECT

“Oh! kings are plentiful to-day;
And if you want one, step this way,
My modest terms to hear.
You hire me by the day or week,
Eightpence an hour is all I seek,
My washing and my beer
“Suburban dinner parties, hops,
The Opera and ‘Monday Pops’ —

Why, I’m the very man.
You really seldom have the chance
Your social status to advance
By such an easy plan.

“Just think how Smith and Jones will stare,
And Robinson and Brown will glare,
If to your house they come,
And you with easy, careless grace
Can introduce us face to face,
My friend the King of Zum.’

“And then when nobody’s about
There’s heaps of little things, no doubt,
That I could find to do.