“Well, then,” said Mrs. Brown firmly, “you’re never to play ‘Tigers and Tamers’ either. And now go and wash your face.”
William’s righteous indignation increased.
“My face?” he repeated as if he could hardly believe his ears. “My face? I’ve washed it twice to-day. I washed it when I got up an’ I washed it for dinner. You told me to.”
“Well, just go and look at it.”
William walked over to the looking-glass and surveyed his reflection with interest. Then he passed his hands lightly over the discoloured surface of his face, stroked his hair back and straightened his tie. This done, he turned hopefully to his mother.
“It’s no good,” she said. “You must wash your face and brush your hair and you’d better change your suit—and stockings. They’re simply covered with dust!”
William turned slowly to go from the room.
“I shouldn’t think,” he said bitterly, as he went, “I shouldn’t think there’s many houses where so much washin’ and brushin’ goes on as in this, an’ I’m glad for their sakes.”
She heard him coming downstairs ten minutes later.
“William!” she called.