William looked at him crushingly.
“Well—din’ I say that?” he said, then turning to the others. “Well, this man, this torrydoor man’s been starvin’ folks an’ killin’ ’em. I heard my father say so. Well, we’ve gotter do something—we may never get a chance of gettin’ him again. He’s a starver an’ a murderer, I heard my father say so, an’ we’ve gotter do something to him.”
“How?” said the Brigands.
“Well, you listen to me,” said William.
The Brigands gathered round.
******
William crept round the outside of the ballroom. Through the open window came the sound of the band, and looking in, William could see couples of gaily dancing youths and maidens in fantastic dresses. Near one open window Henry V stood with a small and dainty Columbine.
“But it is my dance with you, Glor,” Henry V was saying hoarsely. “I wrote to you and asked you, and oh, I’m so glad that you’re better. I’ve been through hours of agony thinking you were dead.”
“You’re absolutely mad,” Glory replied impatiently. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You never wrote and you’ve never asked me for a dance. I’ve never seen you all evening till this minute, except in the distance with everyone trying to pull your head off. You shouldn’t come in a costume like that if you don’t know how to open and shut it, and now you suddenly come and begin to talk nonsense about me being dead.”
“Glor——”