"
Coachman Gregory smiled in his sleeve. He knew that the Admiral had that
day a duty far beyond his powers--to bring up his Sea-Fencibles to see
the King--upon which they had insisted--and then to fetch them all
back again, and send them on board of their several craft in a state of
strict sobriety. And Gregory meant to bear a hand, and lift it pretty
frequently towards the most loyal part of man, in the large festivities
of that night. He smacked his lips at the thought of this, and gave a
little flick to his horses.
After a long time, long enough for two fair drives to Springhaven and
back, and when even the youngest were growing weary of glare, and dust,
and clank, and din, and blare, and roar, and screeching music, Lord
Dashville rode up through a cloud of roving chalk, and after a little
talk with the ladies, ordered the coachman to follow him. Then stopping
the carriage at a proper distance, he led the three ladies towards the
King, who was thoroughly tired, and had forgotten all about them. His
Majesty's sole desire was to get into his carriage and go to sleep; for
he was threescore years and six of age, and his health not such as it
used to be. Ever since twelve o'clock he had been sitting in a box made
of feather-edged boards, which the newspapers called a pavilion, having
two little curtains (both of which stuck fast) for his only defence
against sun, noise, and dust. Moreover, his seat was a board full of
knots, with a strip of thin velvet thrown over it; and Her Majesty
sitting towards the other end (that the public might see between them),
and weighing more than he did, every time she jumped up, he went down,
and every time she plumped down, he went up.
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