and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy, and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up.  Then the king says, “I knowed it; I reckon _that 'll_ convince anybody the way _he_ feels about it.  Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanner, take the money--take it _all_.  It's the gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful.” Mary Jane she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip went for the duke, and then such another hugging and kissing I never see yet.  And everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of them frauds, saying all the time: “You _dear_ good souls!--how _lovely_!--how _could_ you!” Well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all that; and before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything; and nobody saying anything to him either, because the king was talking and they was all busy listening.  The king was saying--in the middle of something he'd started in on-- “--they bein' partickler friends o' the diseased.  That's why they're invited here this evenin'; but tomorrow we want _all_ to come--everybody; for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitten that his funeral orgies sh'd be public.” And so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk, and every little while he fetched in his funeral orgies again, till the duke he couldn't stand it no more; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, “_Obsequies_, you old fool,” and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and reaching it over people's heads to him.  The king he reads it and puts it in his pocket, and says: “Poor William, afflicted as he is, his _heart's_ aluz right.  Asks me to invite everybody to come to the funeral--wants me to make 'em all welcome.  But he needn't a worried--it was jest what I was at.” Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, and goes to dropp