CHAPTER VIII
THE OUTLAWS
It was a half-holiday and William was in his bedroom making careful preparations for the afternoon. On the mantel-piece stood in readiness half a cake (the result of a successful raid on the larder) and a bottle of licorice water. This beverage was made by shaking up a piece of licorice in water. It was much patronised by the band of Outlaws to which William belonged and which met secretly every half-holiday in a disused barn about a quarter of a mile from William’s house.
So far the Outlaws had limited their activities to wrestling matches, adventure seeking, and culinary operations. The week before, they had cooked two sausages which William had taken from the larder on cook’s night out and had conveyed to the barn beneath his shirt and next his skin. Perhaps “cooked” is too euphemistic a term. To be quite accurate, they had held the sausages over a smoking fire till completely blackened, and then consumed the charred remains with the utmost relish.
William put the bottle of licorice water in one pocket and the half cake in another and was preparing to leave the house in his usual stealthy fashion—through the bathroom window, down the scullery roof, and down the water-pipe hand over hand to the back garden. Even when unencumbered by the presence of a purloined half cake, William infinitely preferred this mode of exit to the simpler one of walking out of the front-door. As he came out on to the landing, however, he heard the sound of the opening and shutting of the hall door and of exuberant greetings in the hall.
“Oh! I’m so glad you’ve come, dear. And is this the baby! The duck! Well, den, how’s ’oo, den? Go—o—oo.”
This was William’s mother.
“Oh, crumbs!” said William and retreated hastily. He sat down on his bed to wait till the coast was clear. Soon came the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs.
“Oh, William,” said his mother, as she entered his room, “Mrs. Butler’s come with her baby to spend the afternoon, and we’d arranged to go out till tea-time with the baby, but she’s got such a headache, I’m insisting on her lying down for the afternoon in the drawing-room. But she’s so worried about the baby not getting out this nice afternoon.”
“Oh!” said William, without interest.
“Well, cook’s out and Emma has to get the tea and answer the door, and Ethel’s away, and I told Mrs. Butler I was sure you wouldn’t mind taking the baby out for a bit in the perambulator!”