Part 12 (1/2)
”Scout-Master Wagstaff.”
The other saluted.
”Wake him!”
Scout-Master Wagstaff walked to the side of the bed, and shook the sleeper's shoulder. The Prince grunted, and rolled over on to his other side. The Scout-Master shook him again. He sat up, blinking.
As his eyes fell on the quiet, stern, spectacled figure, he leaped from the bed.
”What-what-what,” he stammered. ”What's the beadig of this?”
He sneezed as he spoke, and, turning to the table, poured out and drained a b.u.mper of ammoniated quinine.
”I told the sedtry pardicularly not to let adybody id. Who are you?”
The intruder smiled quietly.
”My name is Clarence Chugwater,” he said simply.
”Jugwater? Dod't doe you frob Adab. What do you want? If you're forb sub paper, I cad't see you now. Cub to-borrow bordig.”
”I am from no paper.”
”Thed you're wud of these photographers. I tell you, I cad't see you.”
”I am no photographer.”
”Thed what are you?”
The other drew himself up.
”I am England,” he said with a sublime gesture.
”Igglud! How do you bead you're Igglud? Talk seds.”
Clarence silenced him with a frown.
”I say I am England. I am the Chief Scout, and the Scouts are England.
Prince Otto, you thought this England of ours lay p.r.o.ne and helpless.
You were wrong. The Boy Scouts were watching and waiting. And now their time has come. Scout-Master Wagstaff, do your duty.”
The Scout-Master moved forward. The Prince, bounding to the bed, thrust his hand under the pillow. Clarence's voice rang out like a trumpet.
”Cover that man!”
The Prince looked up. Two feet away Scout-Master Wagstaff was standing, catapult in hand, ready to shoot.
”He is never known to miss,” said Clarence warningly.