“Brasted Voolery,” said William, and then loudly and fiercely, “Cam up, y’ode Runt you.”
At these words the white horse started into a convulsive irregular redistribution of its feet, the caravan strained and quivered into motion and Bealby’s wanderings as a caravanner began.
For a time William spoke no more, and Bealby scarcely regarded him. The light of strange fortunes and deep enthusiasm was in Bealby’s eyes....
“One Thing,” said William, “they don’t ’ave the Sense to lock anythink up—whatever.”
Bealby’s attention was recalled to the existence of his companion.
William’s face was one of those faces that give one at first the impression of a solitary and very conceited nose. The other features are entirely subordinated to that salient effect. One sees them later. His eyes were small and uneven, his mouth apparently toothless, thin-lipped and crumpled, with the upper lip falling over the other in a manner suggestive of a meagre firmness mixed with appetite. When he spoke he made a faint slobbering sound. “Everyfink,” he said, “behind there.”
He became confidential. “I been in there. I larked about wiv their Fings.”
“They got some choc’late,” he said, lusciously. “Oo Fine!”
“All sorts of Fings.”
He did not seem to expect any reply from Bealby.