Summary

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle Rodney Stone — Chapter VII: The Hope of England (1896)

For my own part, mindful of my mother's advice, I carefully brushed the dust from my clothes and made myself as neat as possible. My heart was down in the soles of my little silver-buckled shoes now that I had the immediate prospect of meeting so great and terrible a person as the Prince of Wales. I had seen his flaring yellow barouche flying through Friar's Oak many a time, and had halloaed and waved my hat with the others as it passed, but never in my wildest dreams had it entered my head that I should ever be called upon to look him in the face and answer his questions.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle Rodney Stone — Chapter VII: The Hope of England (1896)

There is no one who knows the Prince better than I do, and there is no one who trusts him less. A stranger contradiction of qualities was never gathered under one hat. He is a man who is always in a hurry, and yet has never anything to do. He fusses about things with which he has no concern, and he neglects every obvious duty. He is generous to those who have no claim upon him, but he has ruined his tradesmen by refusing to pay his just debts.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle Rodney Stone — Chapter VII: The Hope of England (1896)

Did I ever tell you how we laid aboard the French sloop of war Minerve—hey, Tregellis?"
"No, sir," said my uncle. Sheridan and Francis exchanged glances behind the Prince's back.
"She was flying her tricolour out there within sight of my pavilion windows. Never saw such monstrous impudence in my life! It would take a man of less mettle than me to stand it. Out I went in my little cock-boat—you know my sixty-ton yawl, Charlie?—with two four-pounders on each side, and a six-pounder in the bows."
"Well, sir! Well, sir! And what then, sir?"
Source: Wikisource

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