“William Leroy,” said the boy tersely. Then, as if in amend for the abruptness, he added: “Sometimes they call it the other way, King William, you know.”
“Who do?”
“Father and mother.”
“You mean when you’re pretending?”
The gate stopped in its jerkings. There had been enough about the name. He was an imperious youngster. “No, I don’t,” he said; “it’s William Leroy backward.”
The little girl looked mystified, but evidently thought best to change a subject about which the person concerned seemed testy. “I saw one once,” she said sociably; “a real one. He was in a carriage, with horses and soldiers, and a star on his coat.”
“One what?” demanded the boy.
“A king, a real one, you know.”
Now, this princeling on the gate knew when his own sex were guying and he knew the remedy. He did not know this little girl, but he would not have thought it of her.
“A real—what?” he demanded.