"Huh!" grunted William, who was apt to overwork his phrases. "They've got out right enough."
He looked at the tracks again and brightened. Jimmy was frankly delighted.
"Oo! Look!" he cried, "Oo funny!"
William's thoughts flew back to his bedroom wall—"A Busy Day is a Happy Day."
"Let's clean it up!" he said. "Let's have it all nice an' clean for when they come down. We'll be busy. You tell me if you feel happy when we've done. It might be true wot it says, but I don't like the flowers messin' all over it."
Investigation in the kitchen provided them with a large pail of water and a scrubbing-brush each.
For a long time they worked in silence. They used plenty of water. When they had finished the trails were all gone. Each soaked garment on the hat-stand was sending a steady drip on to the already flooded floor. The wall-paper was sodden. With a feeling of blankness they realised that there was nothing else to clean.
It was Jimmy who conceived the exquisite idea of dipping his brush in the bucket and sprinkling William with water. A scrubbing-brush is in many ways almost as good as a hose. Each had a pail of ammunition. Each had a good-sized brush. During the next few minutes they experienced purest joy. Then William heard threatening movements above, and decided hastily that the battle must cease.
"Backstairs," he said shortly. "Come on."
Marking their track by a running stream of water, they crept up the backstairs.