"I caught him smugglin'" said William proudly. "I caught him smugglin' beer by the sea an' he was drinking those two bottles he'd smuggled an' he had thousands an' thousands of cigars all over him, an' I caught him, an' he's a smuggler an' I brought him up here with my gun. He's a smuggler an' I took him prisoner."
Mr. Jones, red, and angry, his hair awry, glared through the wickerwork of his basket. He moistened his lips. "This is an outrage," he spluttered.
Horrified elderly eyes stared at the incriminating bottles.
"He was drinkin' 'em by the sea," said William.
"Mr. Jones!" they chorused again.
He flung off his wastepaper basket and turned upon the proprietress of the establishment who stood by the door.
"I will not brook such treatment," he stammered in fury. "I leave your roof to-night. I am outraged—humiliated. I—I disdain to explain. I—leave your roof to-night."
"Mr. Jones!" they said once more.
Mr. Jones, still clasping his bottles, withdrew, pausing to glare at William on his way.