TIBERIUS SMITH
knave, but prithee, didst think to dull my royal eyes by that disguise?' demanded the ringleader of the mental aberrations in his shrill voice.
"‘Nay, sire,' denied Tib, looking back only to behold all escape cut off. 'And you are—?'
"‘Your uncle, sirrah. King James!' was the stern response.
"‘Strike me purple, Billy!' whispered Tib, 'but we are invaders, and if I recall my history rightly, Mr. Monmouth lost his head.'
"‘No plotting with your emissary,' warned James. 'We know him, and i'faith, but Argyle, though he be an earl, shall kiss the same block. Nay, ye both have lost such royal prerogative and shall grace a common gibbet.'
"‘I say, old chap, this is getting tiresome,' I murmured to Tib. 'Tell 'em I'm plain Billy Campbell and a stanch supporter of the throne.'
"‘A Campbell!' shrieked King James. 'Ay, smite me bleeding, but I know the foul Scottish brood! But Argyle or Campbell, ye shall hang and change from the quick to the dead more readily than ever ye shifted aliases.'
"‘Probably some one has opened a quart bottle of pleasuroid,' murmured Tib, 'and they are unduly excited for the minute. Anyway, if they are going to behave like this, I don't care how soon we desert them. I feel like an historical romance.'
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