“Oh,” said the fussy old lady, “I see.” Then she added: “I’ll bid fourteen dollars.”
“Fourteen thousand dollars!” cried a sour-looking woman who was thin and tall and had wrinkles all over her skin – “like a frosted apple,” the king thought.
The bidding now became fast and furious, and the poverty-stricken courtiers brightened up as the sum began to mount into the millions.
“He’ll bring us a very pretty fortune, after all,” whispered one to his comrade, “and then we shall have the pleasure of helping him spend it.”
The king began to be anxious. All the women who looked at all kind-hearted or pleasant had stopped bidding for lack of money, and the slender old dame with the wrinkles seemed determined to get the coronet at any price, and with it the boy husband. This ancient creature finally became so excited that her wig got crosswise of her head[28] and her false teeth kept slipping out, which horrified the little king greatly; but she would not give up.
At last the chief counselor ended the auction by crying out:
“Sold to Mary Ann Brodjinsky de la Porkus for three million, nine hundred thousand, six hundred and twenty-four dollars and sixteen cents!” And the sour-looking old woman paid the money in cash and on the spot, which proves this is a fairy story.
The king was so disturbed at the thought that he must marry this hideous creature that he began to wail and weep; whereupon the woman boxed his ears soundly. But the counselor reproved her for punishing her future husband in public, saying:
“You are not married yet. Wait until to-morrow, after the wedding takes place. Then you can abuse him as much as you wish. But at present we prefer to have people think this is a love match.”
The poor king slept but little[29] that night, so filled was he with terror of his future wife. Nor could he get the idea out of his head that he preferred to marry the armorer’s daughter, who was about his own age. He tossed and tumbled around upon his hard bed until the moonlight came in at the window and lay like a great white sheet upon the bare floor. Finally, in turning over for the hundredth time, his hand struck against a secret spring in the headboard of the big mahogany bedstead, and at once, with a sharp click, a panel flew open.
The noise caused the king to look up, and, seeing the open panel, he stood upon tiptoe, and, reaching within, drew out a folded paper. It had several leaves fastened together like a book, and upon the first page was written:
This was not very good poetry, but when the king had spelled it out in the moonlight he was filled with joy.
“There’s no doubt about my being in trouble,” he exclaimed; “so I’ll burn it at once, and see what happens.”
He tore off the leaf and put the rest of the book in its secret hiding-place. Then, folding the paper double, he placed it on the top of his stool, lighted a match and set fire to it.
It made a horrid smudge for so small a paper, and the king sat on the edge of the bed and watched it eagerly.
When the smoke cleared away he was surprised to see, sitting upon the stool, a round little man, who, with folded arms and crossed legs, sat calmly facing the king and smoking a black briarwood pipe.
“Well, here I am,” said he.
“So I see,” replied the little king. “But how did you get here?”
“Didn’t you burn the paper?” demanded the round man, by way of answer.
“Yes, I did,” acknowledged the king.
“Then you are in trouble, and I’ve come to help you out of it. I’m the Slave of the Royal Bedstead.”
“Oh!” said the king. “I didn’t know there was one.”
“Neither did your father, or he would not have been so foolish as to sell everything he had for money. By the way, it’s lucky for you[30] he did not sell this bedstead. Now, then, what do you want?”
“I’m not sure what I want,” replied the king; “but I know what I don’t want, and that is the old woman who is going to marry me.”
“That’s easy enough,” said the Slave of the Royal Bedstead. “All you need do is to return her the money she paid the chief counselor and declare the match off. Don’t be afraid. You are the king, and your word is law.”
“To be sure,” said the majesty. “But I am in great need of money. How am I going to live if the chief counselor returns to Mary Ann Brodjinski her millions?”
“Phoo! that’s easy enough,” again answered the man, and, putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out and tossed to the king an old-fashioned leather purse. “Keep that with you,” said he, “and you will always be rich, for you can take out of the purse as many twenty-five-cent silver pieces as you wish, one at a time. No matter how often you take one out, another will instantly appear in its place within the purse.”
“Thank you,” said the king, gratefully. “You have rendered me a rare favor; for now I shall have money for all my needs and will not be obliged to marry anyone. Thank you a thousand times!”
“Don’t mention it,” answered the other, puffing his pipe slowly and watching the smoke curl into the moonlight. “Such things are easy to me. Is that all you want?”
“All I can think of just now,” returned the king.
“Then, please close that secret panel in the bedstead,” said the man; “the other leaves of the book may be of use to you some time.”
The boy stood upon the bed as before and, reaching up, closed the opening so that no one else could discover it. Then he turned to face his visitor, but the Slave of the Royal Bedstead had disappeared.
“I expected that,” said his majesty; “yet I am sorry he did not wait to say good-bye.”
With a lightened heart and a sense of great relief the boy king placed the leathern purse underneath his pillow, and climbing into bed again slept soundly until morning.
When the sun rose his majesty rose also, refreshed and comforted, and the first thing he did was to send for the chief counselor.
That mighty personage arrived looking glum and unhappy, but the boy was too full of his own good fortune to notice it. Said he:
“I have decided not to marry anyone, for I have just come into a fortune of my own. Therefore I command you return to that old woman the money she has paid you for the right to wear the coronet of the queen of Quok. And make public declaration that the wedding will not take place.”
Hearing this the counselor began to tremble, for he saw the young king had decided to reign in earnest[31]; and he looked so guilty that his majesty inquired:
“Well! what is the matter now?”
“Sire,” replied the wretch, in a shaking voice, “I cannot return the woman her money, for I have lost it!”
“Lost it!” cried the king, in mingled astonishment and anger.
“Even so, your majesty. On my way home from the auction last night I stopped at the drugstore to get some potash lozenges for my throat, which was dry and hoarse with so much loud talking; and your majesty will admit it was through my efforts the woman was induced to pay so great a price. Well, going into the drugstore I carelessly left the package of money lying on the seat of my carriage, and when I came out again it was gone. Nor was the thief anywhere to be seen.”
“Did you call the police?” asked the king.
“Yes, I called; but they were all on the next block, and although they have promised to search for the robber I have little hope they will ever find him.”
The king sighed.
“What shall we do now?” he asked.
“I fear you must marry Mary Ann Brodjinski,” answered the chief counselor; “unless, indeed, you order the executioner to cut her head off.”
“That would be wrong,” declared the king. “The woman must not be harmed. And it is just that we return her money, for I will not marry her under any circumstances.”