“’E looks,” said the cook gloomily, “the sort of boy we’ll ’ave trouble with.”
“Not much clarse,” said the house-maid, arranging her frilled apron. “It surprises me ’ow any creature like a boy can grow into an experienced, sensible, broad-minded man like you, Mr. Biggs.”
Mr. Biggs simpered and straightened his necktie.
“Well,” he admitted, “as a boy, of course, I wasn’t like ’im.”
Here the pantry-door opened and William’s face, plentifully adorned with knife-powder came round.
“I’ve done some of the knives,” he said, “shall I be doin’ something else and finish the others afterwards?”
“’Ow many ’ave you done?” said Mr. Biggs.
“One or two,” said William vaguely, then with a concession to accuracy, “well, two. But I’m feeling tired of doin’ knives.”
The kitchen-maid emitted a scream of delight and the cook heaved a deep sigh.
The butler advanced slowly and majestically towards William’s tousled head, which was still craned around the pantry door.