When, however, Bertie had put the idea into his head, he began to see that other people might not view his conduct in quite the same light that he did. It was possible even that there might be some truth in the little boy’s view of the case.
“Queenie will be awfully sold if I don’t keep to it,” he remarked, ruefully, for the idea was also very attractive to himself. “She thought it was the best fun in the world.”
Bertie said nothing. He was beginning to feel rather shy at having been so ready with his advice to the elder boy—the hero of such an adventure.
At last the silence was broken by Phil, who burst out laughing.
“After all, youngster, I believe you are right. Perhaps it would be rather mean and shabby to let them have all the bother of trying to hunt me down when I’m here all the time. Mother would be in a fright, perhaps, and father might, too—though it isn’t his way. Perhaps I’d best show myself, and tell the whole tale, as you say. I should not like anybody to think I hid away because I was afraid or ashamed, for I’m not.”
And Phil threw back his head and looked for a moment very like his father; so much so that Bertie admired him very much.
“Well, that’s settled then,” remarked Phil, after a pause. “I only hope Queenie won’t be in a great way about it. She can be very cross when she is put out, as I daresay you know. I wonder what time it is. My father and mother are never down before nine o’clock at earliest.”
“It’s a little past seven,” said Bertie; “I heard the clock strike just now.”
“Well, I can’t show myself till I can go to father straight. I must loaf about out of sight somewhere for the next hour or two; but I’m getting jolly hungry, I know.”
“Come and have some breakfast with me,” said Bertie, hospitably. “Mrs. Pritchard always gets me mine about half-past seven when I’ve been out—which is most mornings.”