A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthurs Court by Mark Twain Chapter 34 Page 17

our help. We were feeling very well satisfied. We could smile; almost laugh.

But we didn’t; which was just as well, for we should have been interrupted. Before the stones had been raging through the leaves and bouncing from the boughs fifteen minutes, we began to notice a smell. A couple of sniffs of it was enough of an explanation — it was smoke! Our game was up at last. We recognized that. When smoke invites you, you have to come. They raised their pile of dry brush and damp weeds higher and higher, and when they saw the thick cloud begin to roll up and smother the tree, they broke out in a storm of joy-clamors.

I got enough breath to say:

“Proceed, my liege; after you is manners.”

The king gasped: