The kitchenmaid put her head round the pantry door.
“’E’s loony,” she said. “It’s lovely listening to ’im talkin.’”
Further conversation was prevented by the ringing of the front-door bell and the arrival of the “company.”
Mr. Biggs and the housemaid departed to do the honours. The kitchenmaid ran to help with the dishing up, and William was left sitting on the pantry table, idly making patterns in knife powder with his finger.
“I’M A GOLD DIGGER,” SAID WILLIAM. “I’VE GOT SHIPLOADS AN’ SHIPLOADS OF GOLD. AT LEAST, I WILL HAVE SOON.”
“Wot was ’e doin’?” said the cook to the kitchenmaid.
“Nothin’—’cept talkin’,” said the kitchenmaid. “’E’s a cure, ’e is,” she added.
“If you’ve finished the knives,” called out the cook, “there’s some boots and shoes on the floor to be done. Brushes an’ blacking on the shelf.”
William arose with alacrity. He thought boots would be more interesting than knives. He carefully concealed the pile of uncleaned knives behind the knife-box and began on the shoes.