The king was saying--in the middle of something he'd started in on-- "-- they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased.

That's why they're invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want ALL to come--everybody; for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that his funeral orgies sh'd be public." And so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke he couldn't stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, "OBSEQUIES, you old fool," and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and reaching it over people's heads to him.

The king he reads it and puts it in his pocket, and says: "Poor William, afflicted as he is, his HEART'S aluz right.

Asks me to invite everybody to come to the funeral--wants me to make 'em all welcome.

But he needn't a worried--it was jest what I was at." Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropping in his funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before.