“I suppose you didn’t think of asking anyone,” she said calmly.
“Well, can I have someone now?”
“No, it’s too late,” said Mrs. Brown, raising her head from the butcher’s book and murmuring “ten and elevenpence” to herself.
“Well, when can I?”
She raised a harassed face.
“William, do be quiet! Any time, if you ask. Eighteen and twopence.”
“Can I have lots?”
“Oh, go and ask your father.”
William went out.
He returned to the dining-room, where his father was still reading a paper. The sigh with which his father greeted his entrance was not one of relief.