By this time William had thought of a suitable rejoinder.
"All right," he jeered, "don't look at me then. Go on tellin' fairy thorieth."
Cuthbert flushed angrily.
"You're a nathty rude little boy," he said. "I'll tell my mother."
Thus war was declared.
He came to tea the next day. Not all William's pleading could persuade his mother to cancel the invitation.
"Well," said William darkly, "wait till you've seen him, that's all. Wait till you've heard him speakin'. He can't talk even. He can't play. He tells fairy stories. He don't like dirt. He's got long hair an' a funny long coat. He's awful, I tell you. I don't want to have him to tea. I don't want to be washed an' all just because he's comin' to tea."
But as usual William's eloquence availed nothing.
Several people came to tea that afternoon, and there was a sudden silence when Mrs. Clive, Joan, and Cuthbert entered. Cuthbert was in a white silk tunic embroidered with blue, he wore white shoes and white silk socks. His golden curls shone. He looked angelic.
"Oh, the darling!"