the floor. There was an old hair trunk in one corner, and a guitar box in another, and all sorts of little knick-knacks and jimcracks around, like girls brisken up a room with. The king said it was all the more homely and more pleasanter for these fixings, and so don't disturb them. The duke's room was pretty small, but plenty good enough, and so was my cubby.
That night they had a big supper, and all them men and women was there, and I stood behind the king and the duke's chairs and waited on them, and the niggers waited on the rest. Mary Jane she set at the head of the table, with Susan alongside of her, and said how bad the biscuits was, and how mean the preserves was, and how ornery and tough the fried chickens was–and all that kind of rot, the way women always do for to force out compliments; and the people all knowed everything Was tip-top, and said so—said "How do you get biscuits to brown so nice?" and "Where, for the land's sake, did you get these amaz’n pickles?" and all that kind of humbug talky-talk, just the way people always does at a supper, you know.
And when it was all done, me and the hare-lip had supper in the kitchen off of the leavings, whilst the others was helping the niggers clean up the things. The bare-lip she got to pumping me about England, and blest if I didn't think the ice was getting mighty thin, sometimes. She says:
"Did you ever see the king?"
"Who? William Fourth? Well, I bet I have—he goes to our church." I knowed he was dead years ago, but I never let оn. So when I says he goes to our church, she says:
"What—regular?"
"Yes—regular. His pew's right over opposite ourn—on t'other side the pulpit."
"I thought he lived in London?"
"Well, he does. Where would be live?"
"But I thought you lived in Sheffield?"
