Albert Edward stepped in without further
remark and sat down.
The rest of the story I had from my groom and countryman, who, along
with an odd hundred other people, happened to be patronising the outer
chamber tubs at the time. He told me that suddenly they heard "a yowl
like a man that's afther bein' bit be a mad dog," and over the screen
of the inner chamber came our Albert Edward in his birthday dress.
"Took it in his sthride, Sor, an' coursed three laps round the
bath-house cursin' the way he'd wither the Divil," said my groom and
countryman; "then he ran out of the door into the snow an' lay down in
it." He likewise told me that Albert Edward's performance had caused a
profound sensation among the other bathers, and they inquired of
Sandy as to the cause thereof; but Sandy shook his Tam-o'-shanter and
couldn't tell them; hadn't the vaguest idea. The water he had given
Albert Edward was hardly scalding, he said; hardly scalding, with
barely one packet of mustard dissolved in it.
Our Albert Edward is still taking his meals off the mantelpiece.
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