<<<
M’Turk, in a violet silk skirt and a coquettish blue turban,
slouched forward as one thoroughly ashamed of himself.
The Slave of the Lamp climbed down from the piano,
and dispassionately kicked him.
‘Play up, Turkey,’ he said; ‘this is serious.’
But there fell on the door the knock of authority.
It happened to be King, in gown and mortar-board,
enjoying a Saturday evening prowl before dinner.
‘Locked doors! Locked doors!’ he snapped with a scowl.
‘What’s the meaning of this; and what, may I ask,
is the intention of this—this epicene attire?’
>>>