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“`King John, surnamed Lackland, was a wicked king. He was forced to yield to the barons, and he lost all his clothes in the Wash.'”

“Well, I never!” said John, foaming with rage; “if that isn’t the coolest bit of lying I ever heard! Here have I been and worn my fingers to the bone writing Magna Charta and giving England all her liberties, and he never once mentions it! My lord and gentlemen, I should like to read you the document I hold in my hand, in order that you may judge–“

“What, eh? Read that thing?” exclaimed Henry the Eighth, in horror. “You’d better try it on, that’s all. Good gracious me, what next? I’ve a good mind to commit you for contempt of court. The question is, were you a wicked king? and did you lose your clothes in the Wash?”

“I am surprised and pained that your lordship should ask me either question. When I assure you, my lord and gentlemen, that a more dutiful son, a wiser monarch, a tenderer husband, and a more estimable man than the humble individual who now addresses you, never drew–“

“Teeth,” put in Richard I.

“No, breath,” continued John. “And when I further tell you that I never even sent my clothes to the wash, and therefore could not possibly have lost them there, you will–“

“All right, pull up,” said the judge. “That’ll do. Keep the rest, my boy. That makes ten and a half–more than we want. Now, then, the next thing is, what sort of execution shall we have?”

“Oh, please,” said the ladies, “please, Harry, darling, let the jury go out and bring the verdict in. It will be such fun.”

“Eh, what?” said Henry, “oh, bother the jury! Where are they? Clear out, do you hear!” said he, addressing the twelve. “Go up to the Napoleon room and talk it over, and stay till I send for you.”

The jury obeyed, and I was left alone in the dock.

“Now,” said the judge, evidently relieved, “let’s have the execution.”

“But we’ve not had the verdict yet,” said Anne Boleyn.

“That’ll do any time,” said Henry. “Just as much fun to have it afterwards. Besides, it’s a wonderful saving of time to get the execution over now, while we’re waiting; and then we can go straight to the refreshment-room. Eh, girls? Eh, what? Ah, I thought so.”

“Oh, well,” said Catherine of Aragon, “but do put him in the condemned cell for a minute or so, and then have him brought out, like they all are, and–“

“As they all are,” said Henry the First. “Like is only used when–“

“Hold your tongue, you impertinent, forward young man!” said Catherine in a rage. “There, now!” added she, beginning to cry, “I’ve forgotten what I was going to say, all through you!”

“I think,” said Henry the Eighth, waving his hand for silence, “he’d better be hung. Marwood tells me it’s a very pretty sight; and the gallows are there quite handy. Besides,” added he confidentially, “we should have to tip him in any case, so we may as well let him have the job, and get what we can for our money. What, eh?”

Every one approved of this, and the executioner was summoned.

Then, as I stood there, shivering in every limb, unable to speak, or even to move, I was aware once more of the lantern coming towards me, and of a hand laid heavily on my shoulder.

“Come, young gentleman,” said the voice, “wake up–or you’ll get locked in. They’re shutting the doors. Tumble up, and look sharp.”

It was Madame Tussaud’s porter; and I had been fast asleep, after all!