look at this prophecy, because it is the late Mr. Birkbeck’s last one, and he said it’ll come true.”
“Bring it here, can’t you?” said the King.
“No, I can’t,” said the boy. “It’s on his tombstone, so there. I can’t carry tombstones about.”
“No,” said the King thoughtfully, “of course you are not powerfully built. You are nowhere near the medium height.”
“Come and look at it if you want to,” said Tony. “I’m in no hurry.”
“Well,” said King Anthony, “I don’t care if I do. I’m tired of sitting still.”
So off they all went, King, Court, heralds, men-at-arms, banner-bearers and spearmen, down the narrow, dark, crooked town streets, till they came to the churchyard where the tombstones were—both the upright and the flat kind.
Tony ran on ahead and knelt in front of the tombstone. Then he jumped up and called out,
“You hurry up, it’s as plain now as the nose on your face.”
“You should say the royal nose on your Majesty’s royal face,” said old Tony anxiously.
But the King was too interested to care about even his subjects’ manners.
