Of a Meeting near Fulham
come to think on it, if you supposed me so, you have used me pretty scurvily for a prince.”
“Are you not the King?” says I, feeling very sheepish, and somehow staggered in my confidence by his demeanour.
“Why, yes,” says he waggishly, “and you are the Great Mogul, as we agreed.”
I stood then, as you may fancy, much dumbfounded, and for the moment at a loss for words, but my Gold-lace friend fetched me to my senses; for says he in his turn—
“Come, come, my good scoundrel, you forget that we have not discharged our business. These shifts will not serve you.”
At that I turned on him very savagely, for I knew ’twas Old Rowley himself, now that the first surprise was over; only I saw no way to deliver myself, and it made me mad to consider that he had been tickled to see me befool myself for Heaven knows how long.
“Damn you,” says I. “An’ this be not His Majesty, why, then, I will claim a prior settlement with him, afore I deal with you.”
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