William seized these wildly and hurled handfuls of flour at the prostrate, screaming Cuthbert. The stage was suddenly pandemonium. The other small actors promptly joined the battle. The prompter was too panic-stricken to lower the curtain. The air was white with clouds of flour. The victim scrambled to his feet and fled, a ghost-like figure, round the table.
"Take him off me," he yelled. "Take him off me. Take William off me." His wailing was deafening.
The next second he was on the floor, with William on top of him. William now varied the proceedings by emptying the jar of jam on to Cuthbert's face and hair.
They were separated at last by the prompter and stage manager, while the audience rose and cheered hysterically. But louder than the cheering rose the sound of Cuthbert's lamentation.
"He'th a nathty, rough boy! He puthed me down. He'th methed my nith clotheth. Boo-hoo!"
Mrs. de Vere Carter was inarticulate.
"That boy ... that boy ... that boy!" was all she could say.
William was hurried away by his family before she could regain speech.
"You've disgraced us publicly," said Mrs. Brown plaintively. "I thought you must have gone mad. People will never forget it. I might have known...."
When pressed for an explanation William would only say: