Peter looked miserably into the kind little pig’s eyes. “I’m suspected too. That’s why I’m being sent away.”
“O’ wot?”
“They call it ‘magination.”
“Ah!”
“Why do you say ah like that?”
“‘Cause it’s wuss’n drink—much wusser. But take no more’n will wash yer mouf out and yer’ll be awright. That’s my principle in everythin’—— Master Peter, this makes us close friends, don’t it? We’re both misonderstood. I——”
Just then a fare came up—an old lady, very full in the skirt, with parcels dangling from her arms in every direction.
“Keb, keb, keb. Oh yes, my ‘orse is wery safe. No, ‘e don’t bite and ‘e won’t run away. Eh? Oh, I’m a wery good driver. Eh? Three to you, mum; four bob to anyone else. Am I kind to ‘im? I loves ‘im like me own darter.—See yer ter-morrow, Master Peter.—Gee, up there. Gee up, I tell yer.”
Peter sought out Grace’s policeman on his beat and made him the same request with respect to Kay. Then he saw the Misses Jacobite and warned them. Having done his best for her safety in his absence, he hurried home.
The evening went all too fast—seven, eight, nine, ten. Every hour the clock struck he felt something between a thrill and a shiver (a “shrill” he called it) run up and down his spine. “The end. The end. The end,” the clock seemed to be saying over and over, so that he wanted to get up and shriek to stop it. Oh, that a little boy could seize the spokes and stay the wheels of time!